XT 

o 

C\J 
O 

UJ 


THE   SPORT 
OF   OUR   ANCESTORS 


mm    i 

W^;         f\  JT 

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, 


.  ;  i;i  V      V 


THE  Fox. 


THE  SPORT 
OF  OUR  ANCESTORS 

BEING  A  COLLECTION  OF  PROSE  AND  VERSE 
SETTING  FORTH 

THE  SPORT   OF  FOX-HUNTING 

AS    THEY    KNEW    IT 

EDITED  AND   SELECTED 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  AND  APPRECIATIONS 

BY 

LORD  WILLOUGHBY  DE  BROKE 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

V- 

G.  D.  ARMOUR 


NEW    YORK 
E.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


v/7 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 


PREFACE 

BY  the  '  Sport  of  our  Ancestors  '  is  meant  the  sport  of 
Fox-hunting.  Anything  to  do  with  Sport  has  always 
been  so  popular  in  these  islands  that  the  word  is 
now  used  to  dignify  almost  anything  in  the  nature  of  a 
competition,  being  applied  to  golf,  football,  lawn-tennis, 
hockey,  or  battledore  and  shuttlecock.  But  perhaps  a  better 
testimony  to  the  supreme  value  of  the  idea  of  Sport  in  the 
Englishman's  mind  is  the  natural  way  in  which  he  designates 
as  a  good  sportsman  any  one  whom  he  particularly  wishes 
to  praise.  No  man  can  have  greater  honour  in  this  country 
than  to  be  known  as  a  good  sportsman,  or,  in  the  vernacular 
of  those  who  are  regardless  of  grammar,  as  a  *  Sport/  He 
may  achieve  this  reputation  without  ever  having  been  on  a 
horse  or  handled  a  gun  or  a  fishing-rod.  But  he  must 
possess  a  sense  of  humour  and,  above  all,  an  ability  to 
take  risks  and  to  play  for  his  side.  These  attributes,  added, 
of  course,  to  a  certain  standard  of  kindliness  and  good  conduct, 
are  what  distinguish  the  good  sportsman  or  '  Sport  '  among 
his  fellows. 

But  for  the  purpose  of  these  papers  the  term  Sport  will 
be  only  applied  to  field  sports,  meaning  the  pursuit  of  wild 

vii 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

animals  by  man.  And  of  all  field  sports  it  can  be  claimed 
that  the  pursuit  of  wild  animals  by  packs  of  Hounds  served 
in  the  field  by  men  mounted  on  horses  is  the  most  exhilarat- 
ing, the  most  varied,  and  therefore  the  most  attractive.  In 
France,  whence  came  the  Norman  who  probably  taught  us 
English  to  love  Sport  for  its  own  sake,  they  hunt  with  packs 
of  Hounds  many  different  kinds  of  game.  In  England  the 
vast  majority  of  packs  hunt  the  Fox.  Hunting  the  Fox,  then, 
is  the  Sport  of  our  Ancestors.  Long  may  it  be  preserved 
for  our  posterity ! 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I 


PAGE 

INTRODUCTORY  i 


CHAPTER  II 

AN  APOLOGY  TO  MR.  SURTEES 23 

CHAPTER  III 

MR.  EGERTON  WARBURTON 37 

SONG          ..........  53 

TAR  WOOD          .........  54 

CHAPTER  IV 

MAJOR  WHYTE  MELVILLE          .         .         .         .         .         .  62 

IN  MEMORIAM     .........  68 

*  YOUR  HAND-WRITING,  SIR  ' 69 

EXTRACT  FROM  '  HOLMBY  HOUSE  ' 79 

CHAPTER  V 

MR.  BROMLEY-DAVENPORT 85 

THE  DREAM  OF  AN  OLD  MELTONIAN      .         .         .         .         .  93. 

LOWESBY  HALL   .........  98 

ix 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

CHAPTER  VI 

PAGE 

BECKFORD   ...  ....  .105 

A  Fox  CHASE      .         .         .         .         ..         .         .         ,  in 

CHAPTER  VII 

'NIMROD* 119 

THE  CHACE         .........  129 

THE  ROAD           .         . 181 

CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  BAG  FOX 237 

THE  NOBLE  EARL  OF  AN  ANCIENT  NAME         ....  240 

CHAPTER  IX 

ANTHONY  TROLLOPE 243 

THE  OLD  KENNELS      ........  251 

GOARLY'S  REVENGE       ........  259 

FROM  IMPINGTON  GORSE       .......  270 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  Fox  ......  Frontispiece 

'  Brighter  in  Britain  the  charms  of  each  daughter,  nor 

Dreads  the  bright  charmer  to  follow  the  fox  '     .  facing  page  52 

*  Stood  tiptoe  on  his  loaded  sack '  .             .             .  „  ,,54 
'  They  fetch 'd  a  team  and  tackle  stout '                     .  „  „     60 
1  "  Has  he  fashion  enough,  think  ye,  sir  ?  "               .  ,,  ,,     72 

*  "  Tally-ho  !  "  shouts  our  friend  Jack '                    .  „  ,,78 
'  "  Come  up,  horse  !  "  mutters  Charles  in  reply  '     .  „  „     80 
'  Well  saved  !     We  are  over ! '                      .  „  „    94 

*  On  his  greasy  cheek  and  forehead  came  a  colour 

and  a  light '   .             .             .             .  „  „  100 

'  Now  let  your  huntsman  throw  in  his  hounds  as 

quietly  as  he  can '       .              .              .  „  ,,  112 

*  Gods !  what  a  crash  they  make '  .             .             .  „  „  118 
1  Listening  how  the  hounds  and  horn '         .             .  „  ,,130 

*  The  second  horse  *                         .             .  „  „  146 
'  The  little  bay  horse  would  have  no  more  of  it '      .  ,,  ,,172 

1  "  Let  'em  go,  then,"   quoth  the  artist,  "  and  take 

care  of  yourselves "'  .              .             .              .  „  „  192 

xi 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

The  Stage  Coach  .....  facing  page  200 

'  He  can  drive  a  phaeton  and  two  '               .                      ,,  „  228 

*  Kept  in  condition  by  being  exercised  by  the  man 

with  the  big  birch  broom  '                    .                      „  „  238 

' "  It  's  p'ison,  my  lord "                 .             .                      „  „  260 

Larry  and  Kate  Masters     .             .             .                      „  „  272 


xn 


CHAPTER  I 
INTRODUCTORY 

^  I  ^HE  songs  and  the  chapters  which  are  illustrated  in 
this  book  by  Mr.  G.  D.  Armour's  unrivalled  pencil 
have  been  chosen  mainly  on  account  of  the  manner 
in  which  they  signify  the  deliberate,  matter-of-course,  almost 
leisurely,  but  none  the  less  whole-hearted,  devotion  to  Fox- 
hunting which  was  once  the  distinguishing  characteristic 
of  the  country  gentlemen  of  England.  The  spacious  days 
of  country  life  from  A.D.  1750,  when  Foxhounds  began  to 
be  bred  for  speed,  to  A.D.  1900,  when  wars  and  rumours  of 
wars  both  at  home  and  abroad  heralded  the  birth  of  a  more 
hectic  existence,  must  have  afforded  some  rare  moments. 
The  culminating  point  of  the  comfortable  England  that  some 
of  us  have  been  privileged  to  enjoy  may  fairly  be  said  to  have 
been  reached  at  the  Diamond  Jubilee  of  Queen  Victoria. 
Then  came  the  Boer  War,  and  with  it  the  first  twinges  of  the 
suspicion  that  after  all  we  might  have  more  trouble  and  less 
junketing  in  days  to  come.  Some  of  us  began  to  feel  a 
draught.  It  is  true  that  peace  was  arranged  in  time  for 
the  Coronation  of  King  Edward  vn.  ;  but  the  short  reign 
of  that  popular  monarch  witnessed  the  final  flicker  of  the 
luxury  and  leisure  that  had  for  so  many  generations  made 
the  life  of  comfortable  England  in  the  country  the  easiest 
A  i 


TKe  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

of  all  forms  of  existence  that  this  planet  has  produced.  But 
during  these  first  years  of  the  twentieth  century  signs  were 
not  wanting  that  peace  at  home  and  abroad  might  come  to 
an  end.  Life  became  more  restless.  Party  feeling  was 
bitter.  There  was  incitement  to  class  warfare.  There  was 
much  shouting  on  the  platform.  The  very  Constitution  in 
Church  and  State  was  called  into  question.  No  thoughtful 
person  could  ignore  the  German  menace.  And  all  the  time 
the  automobile  in  the  hunting -field  was  causing  grave 
searchings  of  heart  among  the  conservative  temperaments. 

And  not  without  some  reason.  Certain  aspects  of  Fox- 
hunting have  never  been  quite  the  same  since  self-propelled 
traffic  took  possession  of  our  country  roads.  The  most 
plausible  defence  of  hunting  by  motor-car  is  that  the  time 
saved  in  this  manner  can  be  profitably  devoted  to  the  trans- 
action of  business,  domestic  or  otherwise.  When  people 
say  this,  they  probably  mean  that  the  time  can  be  comfort- 
ably devoted  to  lying  in  bed.  But  granted  that  the  busy 
man  can  leave  the  door  at  10.15  A-M-  m  a  motor-car  instead 
of  at  9.30  A.M.  in  a  carriage,  is  there  much  real  saving  of 
tissue  ?  The  time  between  9.30  A.M.  and  10.15  A.M.  might 
be  more  restfully  spent  in  the  phaeton  or  the  buggy  than 
in  talking  on  the  telephone,  interviewing  the  agent,  or  com- 
posing letters  to  creditors.  But  whether  one  goes  to  the 
meet  in  a  motor-car,  in  a  carriage,  or  on  horseback  is  entirely 
a  question  of  taste.  Although  a  motor-car  in  the  hunting- 
field  is  sadly  out  of  the  picture,  its  use  as  a  covert  hack  has 
had  no  real  effect  on  the  sport.  But  it  has  probably  had  some 
2 


Introductory 


effect  upon  the  sportsman.  All  boys  and  girls  ought  to 
learn  how  to  jog  their  hunters  quietly  to  the  meet,  how  to 
ride  them  all  day  with  a  view  to  having  to  get  them  home 
at  night,  and  how  to  get  them  home  after  a  hard  day.  Until 
they  have  done  all  these  things,  and  done  them  in  the  right 
way,  they  are  not  fit  to  be  called  Fox-hunters,  or  to  have 
horses  of  their  own.  Experience  is  the  best  school.  But 
the  tendency  of  motor  transport  is  to  rob  the  young  genera- 
tion of  this  experience.  Horse-mastership  is  left  to  the 
servants,  and  as  soon  as  the  fur  coat,  the  thermos  bottle, 
and  the  car  can  be  found  by  telephone  or  otherwise,  the 
horse  is  handed  over  to  the  groom  to  get  home  in  the  best 
way  he  can.  Equally,  the  fatal  facility  with  which  the 
motor-car  covers  long  distances  to  the  meet,  not  previously 
attempted,  may  very  well  make  people  a  little  careless  about 
asking  their  men  and  horses  to  cover  these  same  distances, 
starting  while  their  masters  are  in  bed. 

But  this  is  not  all.  The  general  use  of  mechanical 
transport  on  the  public  roads  has  caused  them  to  be  treated 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  make  riding  on  them  a  real  danger, 
a  far  worse  one  than  jumping  the  fences.  No  horse,  how- 
ever quiet,  can  travel  to-day  on  the  glazed  surface  of  our  roads 
without  being  in  constant  danger  of  slipping  up,  breaking 
his  rider's  leg,  and  very  likely  injuring  himself.  This  with 
a  quiet  horse.  To  mount  a  horse  that  is  inclined  to  jump 
about  on  these  hard,  black,  shiny,  slippery  superficies  re- 
quires courage  of  no  mean  order.  It  was  bad  enough  to 
have  to  get  on  to  a  snorting  animal  in  the  old  days  before 

3 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

the  roads  were  polished  and  burnished  as  they  are  to-day. 
The  road  was  even  then  a  hard  place  to  fall  on,  but  at  least 
there  was  foothold  for  the  horse  when  he  began  to  dance. 
In  the  present  state  of  the  roads  any  movement  at  all,  unless 
it  be  a  very  slow  walk,  is  almost  suicidal.  The  casualty  list 
is  already  formidable.  But  when  one  has  got  to  the  meet 
without  disaster  by  the  aid  of  short  cuts  and  grass  sidings  to 
the  roads — though  what  happens  in  some  countries  where 
there  are  no  grass  sidings  is  terrible  to  contemplate — what 
becomes  of  our  good  old  friend  the  turnpike  road,  who  has 
so  often  enabled  us  all  to  save  our  horses  during  the  run, 
and  to  see  so  many  Foxes  killed  ?  It  has  been  turned  into  a 
sheet  of  ice,  hard,  hideous,  and  convex,  more  death-dealing 
than  the  stiffest  of  timber  or  the  blindest  of  ditches. 

The  motor-car,  then,  seems  to  have  made  Fox-hunting 
more  of  a  luxury  and  less  of  a  business,  and  has  made  riding 
on  the  turnpike  road  almost  impossible.  In  a  certain  sense 
it  has  had  more  influence  than  the  railway  train  as  an  acces- 
sory of  the  chase.  A  railroad  is,  of  course,  a  horrible  nuisance, 
and  has  spoilt  many  a  good  run,  but  the  general  effect  of 
railways  on  Fox-hunting  was  so  gradual  that  the  change  was 
hardly  perceptible.  Motor-cars,  on  the  other  hand,  came  in 
battalions,  almost  without  warning,  penetrated  places  where 
the  railroad  did  not  run,  and  marked  a  new  era  in  the  general 
outlook  of  the  Fox-hunter,  as  they  have  marked  a  completely 
new  era  in  the  customs  and  indeed  the  manners  of  the 
nation. 

It  is  with  the  object  of  recalling  something  of  the  spirit 
4 


Introductory 


of  an  age  when  comfortable  England  was  contented  to  think 
of  sport  rather  than  speed  that  these  papers  are  now  offered 
to  the  public. 

Whether  those  boys  and  girls  who  first  saw  the  light 
about  the  dawn  of  this  century  will  enjoy  field  sports  as 
much  as  did  their  ancestors  is  an  open  question.  What  is 
not  an  open  question  is  that  most  of  them,  for  the  present 
at  any  rate,  will  enjoy  them  in  a  different  manner,  and  from 
a  different  point  of  view.  What  is  the  nature  of  this  differ- 
ence ?  The  answer  probably  is  that  for  some  years  past,  even 
before  the  War,  life  was  becoming  more  complex,  particularly 
for  the  agricultural  landlords,  who  for  many  generations  had 
directed  the  field  sports  of  the  British  Isles.  The  agri- 
cultural depression  which  began  in  the  late  seventies  took 
away  from  many  county  families  their  hereditary  privilege  of 
being  the  chief  financiers  of  Fox-hunting.  Here  and  there 
one  or  two  of  the  great  houses  whose  revenues  were  perhaps 
independent  of  agricultural  rents  solemnly  continued  to 
keep  on  the  family  pack  with  no  subscription,  as  if  nothing 
had  happened — or  ever  would  happen.  But  many  of  the 
landlords  had  either  to  give  up  the  mastership  of  Foxhounds 
altogether,  or  else  to  be  paid  a  salary.  Concurrently  with 
the  fall  in  revenue,  political  pressure  began  to  occupy  more 
of  their  time  in  public  duty.  They  perceived  that  if  they  were 
to  keep  their  influence,  their  service  to  the  State  could  no 
longer  be  confined  to  having  a  good  luncheon  four  times 
a  year  at  Quarter  Sessions,  and  sitting  on  the  local  Bench 
once  a  month  on  a  non-hunting  day.  The  whole  para- 

5 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

phernalia  of  local  government  compelled  their  attention,  if 
even  from  no  other  instinct  than  that  of  self-preservation. 
Parliamentary  elections  ceased  to  be  a  choice  between  a 
Whig  and  a  Tory  landlord  ;  the  squire  was  opposed  by  the 
Radical,  who  was  not  ashamed  to  confess  that  he  was  out  to 
demolish  the  existing  order,  and  to  lay  his  hands  on  the 
very  Ark  of  the  Covenant  in  the  shape  of  the  hereditary 
principle.  The  electors  ceased  to  take  things  for  granted. 
The  spirit  of  that  pleasant  age  indicated  by  the  Eton  boy 
who  said,  '  Don't  bother  about  farming  or  politics  ;  all 
father's  tenants  have  to  do  is  to  walk  a  Foxhound  puppy  and 
vote  for  the  Conservatives/  was  quickly  passing.  Leaflets, 
pamphlets,  and  all  the  other  horrors  of  that  terrible  thing 
called  propaganda  were  brought  into  full  play.  The  com- 
fortable evening  at  home  had  to  give  way,  with  distressing 
frequency,  to  the  village  meeting.  A  wise  and  witty  Tory 
*  grande  dame  '  is  said  to  have  remarked  that  unless  this 
privation  were  cheerfully  borne,  '  the  eight  o'clock  dinner 
would  ruin  the  Conservative  Party.' 

All  these  things,  quite  independently  of  war,  combined 
to  make  life  at  the  beginning  of  this  century  much  more  of 
a  hustle  than  ever  it  had  been  before.  Instances  of  the 
sealed  pattern  existence  of  the  affluent  country  gentleman 
became  very  rare.  In  former  times  it  had  been  his  custom 
to  change  his  seat  of  government  from  his  country  house  to  his 
London  house  on  the  same  date  every  year.  He  purchased 
a  commission  for  his  eldest  son  in  the  Household  Troops, 
or  sent  him  into  Parliament.  The  younger  sons  divided 
6 


Introductory 


the  family  living,  the  army,  and  the  navy  between  themselves , 
having  received  from  their  father  a  sufficient  allowance  to 
make  them  independent  of  their  not  too  exacting  professions. 
This  arrangement  formed  a  convenient  setting  for  the  enjoy- 
ment of  field  sports  in  the  autumn  and  winter,  and  of  other 
delights  in  the  summer.  It  is  true  that  there  may  have 
been  a  certain  period  of  boredom  for  *  the  sad  Meltonian  ' 
in  the  spring.  But  this  was  shortly  to  be  relieved  by  the 
festive  Yeomanry  Week,  followed  by  the  London  season  with 
Epsom,  Ascot,  Newmarket,  and  Goodwood,  to  say  nothing 
of  a  country  house  cricket  party,  of  all  forms  of  junketing 
one  of  the  most  enchanting.  The  original  picture  from 
which  this  brief  sketch  is  drawn  of  a  certain  aspect  of  leisured 
life  is  to  be  found  in  the  novels  of  Whyte  Melville,  who 
knew  the  whole  subject  intimately,  and  must  be  accepted 
as  an  authority.  It  is  not  presented  as  the  lament  of  laudator 
temporis  acti,  still  less  is  it  intended  to  be  a  defence  of  a  social 
system  as  it  manifested  itself  to  some  of  us  during  a  certain 
epoch.  It  is  rather  offered  with  the  idea  of  trying  to  trace 
the  change  in  the  atmosphere  of  country  life  which  was 
taking  place  during  the  last  quarter  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury and  the  first  decade  of  the  twentieth.  An  amusing 
and  touching  symptom  of  the  devout  attitude  of  our  an- 
cestors towards  field  sports  marks  the  contrast  between  the 
spirit  of  this  period  and  that  of  the  age  that  was  passing. 
They  thought  it  quite  natural  that  even  the  Church  should  be 
the  instrument  for  registering  the  public  veneration  for  Fox- 
hunting and  horsemanship.  It  may  be  within  the  memory 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

of  the  oldest  inhabitants  of  a  certain  parish  that  the  meets 
of  the  Foxhounds  were  nailed  upon  the  church  door,  if  not 
actually  announced  from  the  pulpit  by  the  good  parson 
himself  every  Sunday.  There  is  yet  another  instance  even 
more  naive  than  this.  The  proud  parish  that  had  given 
birth  to  one  of  the  finest  sportsmen,  and  perhaps  the  most 
consummate  horseman,  of  the  Victorian  era  rang  its  church 
bells  on  the  occasion  of  his  riding  the  winner  of  the  Grand 
National  Steeplechase  at  Liverpool  for  the  second  year  in 
succession.  The  man  to  whom  was  accorded  this  unique 
tribute  was  none  other  than  the  late  Mr.  J.  Maunsell  Richard- 
son, who  won  the  Grand  National  Steeplechase  in  1873  on 
Disturbance,  and  in  1874  on  Reugny,  both  of  whom  he 
had  himself  trained  for  Captain  Machell. 

Mr.  Maunsell  Richardson,  who  was  born  in  1846  and 
died  in  1912,  seemed  to  his  contemporaries  to  be  one  of  the 
fine  flowers  of  English  country  life.  Was  he  born  at  the 
right  time  to  have  enjoyed  field  sports  at  their  very  best  ? 
This  question  gives  rise  to  much  speculation.  It  is  inter- 
esting to  try  to  compare  the  respective  environments  of 
those  sportsmen  who  were  born  about  the  twenties,  the 
forties,  and  the  sixties.  Be  it  understood  that  such  analysis 
as  it  is  possible  to  make  will  be  confined  to  the  point  of  view 
of  the  leisured  classes  who  in  the  last  century  were  mainly 
recruited  from  the  agricultural  landlords.  No  apology  is 
needed  for  talking  about  the  leisured  classes.  Since  the 
War,  the  acquisition  of  wealth  and  leisure,  more  often  than 
not  employed  in  the  pursuit  of  game,  seems  to  be  just  as 
8 


Introductory 


fashionable  an  occupation  as  it  was  in  the  days  of  the  Greeks 
and  the  Romans,  and  perhaps  for  many  thousands  of  years 
before  their  time.  Those  who  were  born  about  1820, 
possibly  ten  years  earlier,  to  the  unfettered  and  affluent 
enjoyment  of  field  sports,  and  departed  this  life  at  the  age 
of  threescore  years  and  ten,  would  almost  seem  to  have 
skimmed  the  very  cream  of  the  English  countryside.  From 
the  picturesque  point  of  view  they  had  the  advantage  of 
seeing  what  England  looked  like  before  the  railroads.  They 
saw  with  their  own  eyes  the  post-chaises,  the  private  travelling 
carriages,  and  the  stage-coaches,  at  that  time  in  the  very 
zenith  of  efficiency,  so  well  described  by  '  Nimrod '  in  his 
famous  chapter  on  *  The  Road  '  which  appears  presently. 
From  the  sporting  point  of  view  there  was  little  or  nothing 
to  hinder  them  from  doing  what  they  liked.  The  even 
tenor  of  their  way  received  occasional  shocks,  such  as  the 
Reform  Bill,  the  introduction  of  the  railroad,  and  the  Repeal 
of  the  Corn  Laws.  On  each  of  these  occasions  the  world 
was  without  doubt  coming  to  an  end.  But  strange  to  say, 
in  spite  of  these  hideous  portents,  they  contrived  to  enjoy 
those  glorious  gallops  with  Mr.  Corbet  and  Mr.  Osbaldeston, 
and  the  Fox-hunting  parties  at  the  great  country  houses. 
The  contemporary  portraits  by  pen  and  pencil  give  forth  a 
delicious  atmosphere  of  permanence,  prosperity,  and  pro- 
prietorship. Sir  Francis  Grant  has  caught  the  spirit  of  the 
whole  thing  in  such  pictures  as  the  Meet  of  the  Cottesmore 
Hounds  during  the  famous  Mastership  of  Sir  Richard  Sutton. 
It  is  true  that  some  of  the  Hounds  look  as  if  it  would  take 


them  all  their  time  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  the  horses, 
even  though  the  horses  themselves  may  look  a  trifle 
*  coachy.'  It  would  be  interesting  indeed  to  have  heard 
Sir  Richard's  own  criticisms  when  he  first  saw  the  picture. 
Anyway,  however  they  may  have  been  portrayed  upon  canvas, 
neither  the  horses  nor  the  Hounds,  unless  they  had  been  of 
the  very  best,  would  have  satisfied  such  men  as  Sir  Richard 
Sutton,  Mr.  Assheton  Smith,  the  Duke  of  Rutland,  and  the 
other  intimate  enthusiasts  who  form  this  notable  group. 
But  the  main  merit  of  this  picture  does  not  consist  in  the 
faithful  portrayal  of  animal  anatomy,  though  we  may  remark 
in  passing  that  few  artists  ever  placed  a  man  so  easily  and 
comfortably  in  his  saddle  as  did  Sir  Francis  Grant.  His 
portraits  are  not  of  a  man  on  his  horse.  They  are  of  a  man 
and  his  horse.  Sir  Richard  Sutton  and  his  horse  appear  in 
this  portrait  to  fit  each  other  so  gracefully  and  naturally  that 
it  is  hard  to  believe  they  could  ever  part  company.  The 
charm  of  this  picture  and  of  others  like  it,  such  as  the  Melton 
Hunt  Breakfast,  consists  of  the  manner  in  which  they  convey 
the  calm  spirit  of  *  the  gentlemen  of  England/  There  is  no 
suggestion  of  neurasthenia  in  the  pictures  of  Sir  Francis 
Grant.  He  groups  and  paints  those  men  who  met  the  Fox- 
hounds in  the  morning  to  ride  over  each  other's  land,  and 
met  together  in  the  evening  to  drink  each  other's  claret,  as 
possessing  an  air  of  assurance,  a  power  of  command,  a  sense 
of  property,  a  solidity  of  position,  a  freedom  from  worry, 
a  distinction  of  manner,  and  a  solemn,  almost  stodgy  sim- 
plicity, which  in  those  days  must  have  been  the  traditional 
10 


Introductory 


characteristics  of  the  gentlemen  who  were  sportsmen  as  well 
as  men  of  substance.  They  and  their  kind  were  in  a  sub- 
stantial majority  in  both  Houses  of  Parliament.  In  his 
'  English  Constitution '  Mr.  Bagehot  tells  us  that  '  a  cynical 
politician  is  said  to  have  watched  the  long  row  of  county 
members,  so  fresh  and  respectable-looking,  and  muttered, 
"  By  Jove  !  they  are  the  finest  brute  votes  in  Europe." 

'  What  will  be  your  profession  when  you  grow  up  ?  ' 
said  the  pompous  family  friend  to  a  boy  who  was  the  younger 
son  of  a  country  parson.  *  I  don't  know  what  it  is  called,' 
said  the  hopeful  child,  *  but  it  means  living  in  the  country, 
and  keeping  a  lot  of  horses  and  dogs  and  things.'  Pathetic, 
but  quite  English.  This  was  the  life.  *  If  I  were  as  rich  as 
Mr.  Darcy,'  cried  young  Master  Lucas  in  '  Pride  and  Preju- 
dice,' '  I  would  keep  a  pack  of  foxhounds,  and  drink  a  bottle 
of  wine  every  day.'  How  many  boys  to-day  would  begin 
talking  about  a  Rolls  Royce  ?  One  of  the  strokes  of  Surtees's 
pen  portrait  in  *  Ask  Mamma '  of  the  Earl  of  Ladythorne  of 
Tantivy  Castle,  who  was  presumably  born  about  the  begin- 
ning of  the  last  century,  hits  this  existence  very  shrewdly. 
His  lordship  is  out  cub -hunting  with  his  own  Hounds,  and 
is  described  as  '  sitting  among  his  blackthorn  bushes  like  a 
gentleman  in  his  opera  stall,  thinking  now  of  the  hunt,  now 
of  his  dinner,  now  of  what  a  good  thing  it  was  to  be  a  lord, 
with  a  good  digestion  and  plenty  of  cash,  and  nobody  to 
comb  his  head.' 

Now  let  us  have  a  look  at  the  next  generation  that  began 
to  be  born  about  the  beginning  of  the  forties.  In  a  certain 

ii 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

sense  they  had  in  their  youth  an  almost  better  time  than 
their  fathers.  The  Reform  Bill  and  the  Repeal  of  the  Corn 
Laws  had  not  really  begun  to  make  themselves  felt  either  in 
or  out  of  Parliament.  There  was  a  period  of  ease  in  the 
history  of  English  country  life,  and  indeed  in  political  and 
foreign  affairs  generally,  dating  from  the  suppression  of  the 
Indian  Mutiny  in  1858  down  to  the  beginning  of  the  eighties, 
the  like  of  which  we  may  not  enjoy  again  for  many  a  long 
year.  It  is  true  that  the  glass  began  to  fall  in  the  political 
as  well  as  the  meteorological  sense  towards  the  end  of  this 
period.  But  the  Eastern  Question  and  the  troubles  in 
Afghanistan  and  South  Africa,  so  intimately  described  in 
Mr.  Buckle's  *  Life  of  Disraeli,'  did  not  react  upon  the  Fox- 
hunter.  The  wet  seasons  in  the  late  seventies  certainly 
hastened  what  the  Protectionist  pamphleteers  of  the  day 
called  *  the  Curse  of  Cobden.'  Landlord  and  tenant  alike 
thought  that  the  days  of  agriculture  were  numbered.  But 
the  wet  seasons,  distressing  though  they  were  to  those  who 
loved  husbandry,  were  not  without  a  queer  kind  of  compen- 
sation to  the  actual  sport  itself  in  the  field,  although  it  should 
not  be  forgotten  that  in  the  long  run  the  prosperity  of  Fox- 
hunting and  of  farming  are  linked  together.  The  nature 
of  this  compensation  resides  in  the  fact  that  as  a  general 
rule  a  thoroughly  well  rain -soaked  earth  carries  a  good 
scent.  *  I  suppose  we  are  all  ruined/  exclaimed  a  noble  lord 
who  hunted  his  own  Hounds,  as  after  a  good  run  he  stamped 
into  the  ancestral  hall  in  stained  red  coat  and  water-logged 
top-boots,  the  picture  of  a  happy,  if  ruined,  Englishman, 
12 


Introductory 


*  so  we  may  as  well  enjoy  ourselves  out  hunting  as  long  as  we 
can.  There  are  no  sheep  in  the  fields  to  bother  us,  the 
country  is  all  being  laid  down  to  grass,  and,  by  Jove  !  we  are 
having  a  better  scenting  time  than  we  have  had  for  years/ 

The  country  gentleman  who  came  to  man's  estate  about 
A.D.  1860  cannot  have  been  far  from  the  golden  age  of  Fox- 
hunting. In  the  matter  of  creature  comforts  he  was  better 
served  than  his  father.  The  railroads,  so  far  from  having 
put  a  stop  to  hunting,  as  *  Nimrod '  thought  they  would, 
became  a  positive  convenience,  without  being  sufficiently 
numerous  to  be  a  hindrance  in  the  field.  The  Fox-hunter 
who  wished  to  pursue  deer,  salmon,  or  grouse  before  the 
hunting  season  must  have  found  it  more  comfortable  to 
travel  to  Perth  or  Inverness  in  the  train  in  twelve  or  eighteen 
hours  than  to  undertake  the  same  journey  by  the  turnpike 
road.  Sitting  up  all  night  in  an  ordinary  railway  carriage 
was  not  much  fun,  but  in  a  few  years  the  comfortable  sleeping 
berth  and  its  well-mannered  groom  of  the  chambers  made 
the  journey  almost  a  luxury.  This  same  railroad  also  enabled 
the  member  of  Parliament  to  meet  the  Foxhounds  within 
measurable  distance  of  London  after  a  night  at  Westminster, 
and  unlocked  to  the  Oxford  undergraduates  the  pastures  of 
Warwickshire  and  Buckinghamshire  as  alternatives  to  the 
groves  of  Waterperry  and  the  thickets  of  Bagley  Wood. 

But  there  were  other  accessories  of  the  Chase  that  contri- 
buted to  remove  certain  disabilities  under  which  the  previous 
generation  had  suffered.  There  is  hardly  any  record  of  a 
good  run  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  nineteenth  century  which 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

does  not  contain  some  account  of  the  horses  getting  tired. 
Sometimes  they  died,  sometimes  it  was  thought  necessary 
to  bleed  them,  sometimes  they  had  to  be  left  out  for  the 
night.  Such  distressing  accompaniments  to  a  day's  pleasure 
may  be  accounted  for  by  the  lack  of  drainage  and  the  conse- 
quent heavy  going,  as  well  as  by  the  fact  that  in  those  days 
horse-masters  had  still  a  lot  to  learn.  Clipping  must  have 
been  a  very  difficult  problem  before  the  clipping  machine 
was  invented.  Hunters  in  some  stables  were  shaved  with 
the  razor,  but  no  doubt  their  coats  were  allowed  to  grow 
very  late  in  the  autumn  in  order  to  postpone  such  a  desperate 
operation  as  late  as  possible,  in  the  hope  that  it  might  not 
have  to  be  repeated  before  the  end  of  the  season.  Now  there 
is  nothing  that  handicaps  a  hunter  more  than  a  long  coat. 
His  coat  begins  to  grow  in  the  autumn,  at  the  very  time 
when  the  pores  of  his  skin  should  be  free  to  give  him  every 
possible  advantage  while  the  process  of  conditioning  is  being 
carried  out.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  invention 
of  the  clipping  machine  was  something  like  a  revolution  in 
the  science  of  horse-mastership.  If  a  gentleman  with  a  stud 
of  hunters  were  obliged  to  forgo  either  his  clipping  machine 
or  his  motor-car,  he  would  have  to  keep  the  clipping  machine 
and  let  the  other  go  if  he  wanted  to  enjoy  himself  out  hunt- 
ing. And  the  art  of  the  blacksmith  was  all  this  time  im- 
proving. We  do  not  hear  nearly  so  much  of  the  vexation  of 
casting  shoes.  In  reading  the  history  of  the  bygone  age  it 
would  almost  seem  to  be  a  matter  of  even  betting  whether 
a  hunter  kept  all  his  shoes  on  all  day  or  not.  The  drainless 


Introductory 

ground  no  doubt  contributed  to  this  drawback.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  may  be  urged  with  some  truth  that  an  earth 
unturned  by  surface  drains  carried  a  better  scent  than  after 
it  was  disturbed.  But  if  we  put  into  the  scale  the  pain  and 
grief  of  riding  an  undipped  horse  over  undrained  land 
against  the  exquisite  sensation  of  riding  a  clean-skinned  horse 
over  sound  pasture,  the  balance  must  surely  be  in  favour  of 
the  latter,  even  though  scent  may  not  have  served  so  con- 
sistently as  in  former  times.  This  sensation  may  perhaps 
be  enhanced  by  the  fact  that  the  hairs  and  the  sweat  of  a 
curly-coated  smoking  steed  are  disastrous  to  the  comfort  and 
personal  appearance  of  the  rider.  John  Gilpin  must  have 
been  in  a  nice  mess  long  before  he  got  to  Ware. 

We  may  claim,  then,  that  the  soundness  of  the  pastures, 
and  the  general  advance  in  the  science  of  horse-mastership, 
made  riding  over  the  country  more  delightful  than  ever. 
Add  to  these  things  the  glorious  thought  that  barbed  wire 
and  patent  manures  were  only  in  their  infancy,  and  you 
have  an  environment  for  Fox-hunting  that  no  other  age  has 
equalled.  And  who  were  the  exponents  of  the  art  of  the 
Chase  in  those  days  ?  Many  of  them  were  men  of  marked 
talent  and  renown.  The  sixties  and  seventies  and  the  early 
eighties  enjoyed  the  last  ten  years  of  the  ripe  experience  of 
Lord  Henry  Bentinck,  perhaps  the  greatest  master  of  Fox- 
hounds of  the  nineteenth  century.  They  witnessed  the 
early  part  of  the  career  of  Tom  Firr,  perhaps  the  greatest 
professional  huntsman  of  all  time.  The  Lord  Worcester  of 
the  day,  then  in  the  prime  of  his  health  and  strength,  was 

15 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

laying  the  foundation  of  his  great  reputation  among  the 
amateurs.  Lord  Willoughby  de  Broke  was  restoring  to  the 
Warwickshire  country  the  fame  that  it  had  once  enjoyed  in 
the  days  of  Mr.  Corbet  and  Lord  Middleton.  Mr.  Preston 
Rawnsley  was  handling  his  Foxes  after  many  fine  runs  over 
the  wolds  of  Lincolnshire.  Among  the  professional  hunts- 
men such  men  as  Frank  Gillard,  Will  Goodall,  George 
Carter,  Frank  Beers,  Will  Dale,  and  Nimrod  Long  were  at 
their  very  best.  All  these  men  seemed  to  have  one  thing 
in  common  which  may  be  worth  noting,  and  it  is  this  :  each 
of  them  brought  to  his  profession  a  presence  and  personality 
which  will  stamp  them  for  ever  in  the  memory  of  those  who 
knew  them.  There  was  nothing  nondescript  or  insignificant 
about  any  of  them.  Each  of  them  would  probably  have  been 
a  credit  to  any  other  walk  of  life.  Some  one  may  say  that 
brave  men  lived  before  Agamemnon,  and  that  the  preceding 
generation  had  heroes  as  great  as  these.  Our  purpose  is  to 
present  the  age  in  which  they  flourished  as  the  Golden  Age  of 
Fox-hunting,  and  we  have  mentioned  their  names  to  prove 
that  the  period  1860-1885  will  bear  comparison  with  any 
other  in  regard  to  famous  masters  and  huntsmen. 

There  remains  to  be  considered  the  outlook  of  those 
members  of  '  the  governing  classes  '  who  began  this  mortal 
life  at  some  time  during  the  decade  1865-1875.  In  a  sense 
they  have  had  the  most  interesting  life  of  all,  packed  with 
experiences.  Born  to  influence  and  prosperity,  they  have 
witnessed  many  transitions.  They  have  enjoyed  the  very 
apotheosis  of  comfortable  and  luxurious  England.  They 
16 


Introductory 


have  felt,  and  are  still  feeling,  the  vertical  breeze  of  political 
and  economic  upheaval.  They  have  seen  war.  But  to 
those  who  have  the  gift  of  extracting  charm  from  memory  r 
their  greatest  treasure  is  the  link  they  can  preserve  with 
that  picturesque  country  life  of  which  their  grandfathers 
could  tell  them.  Some  of  them,  for  instance,  had  the  rare 
privilege  of  taking  their  first  lessons  in  driving  four  horses 
from  the  men  of  old  time  who  had  driven  the  mail  coaches. 
We  ourselves  made  our  first  attempt  at  coaching  in  London 
under  the  master  eye  of  the  late  Mr.  Charles  Ward,  who 
drove  the  Exeter  Telegraph.  As  boys  and  girls  they  had 
a  glimpse  of  the  placid  county  society  of  the  undiluted 
mid- Victorian  type,  before  its  character  was  destroyed  by 
the  multiplication  of  quick  trains  up  to  London,  automobiles, 
kodaks,  telephones,  and  week-end  parties.  The  atmosphere 
of  Eton  and  Oxford  was  much  the  same  as  it  had  been  in 
the  time  of  their  fathers,  particularly  the  Eton  of  Dr.  Hornby. 
There  was  a  very  slight  draught,  almost  imperceptible,  when 
Dr.  Warre  of  revered  memory  succeeded  Dr.  Hornby,  the 
effect  of  which  can  only  be  appreciated  by  those  who  were 
at  Eton  when  the  change  took  place.  The  nature  of  the 
change  was  the  substitution  of  a  certain  flavour  of  the 
orderly  room  for  the  dignified,  flexible,  country-house 
compromise  that  prevailed  when  Hornby  was  headmaster. 
At  Oxford  the  Bullingdon,  Fox-hunting,  steeple-chasing  set 
was  still  flourishing.  Those  who  went  to  Oxford  at  any 
time,  say,  between  1885  an<^  J^95  found  it  to  be  exactly 
the  place  their  fathers  had  described.  The  very  henchmen 
B  17 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

who  had  ministered  to  the  sport  of  their  ancestors  were 
literally  waiting  at  the  door  to  welcome  them.  Fox-hunting 
was  almost  a  recognised  part  of  the  system.  One  mild 
morning  in  November,  a  freshman  was  summoned  to  the 
carpet  of  the  head  of  his  college.  His  foot  was  in  the  stirrup 
when  the  message  arrived,  so  he  obeyed  the  summons  forth- 
with in  his  new  red  coat,  new  top-boots,  and  still  newer 
cap  and  gown.  *  Sir/  said  he,  *  I  am  just  starting  for  hunt- 
ing, and  if  I  do  not  start  now,  I  shall  be  late/  '  When  I  was 
an  undergraduate  at  this  college/  said  the  courteous  old 
doctor  of  divinity,  ignoring  with  fine  taste  the  unusual 
costume,  *  I  was  the  only  one  who  did  not  hunt.  I  do  not 
know  much  about  hunting,  but  I  do  know  that  it  is  an 
offence  to  be  late  for  the  meet.  Run  away  now,  and  come 
to  see  me  to-morrow/  A  triumph  for  the  Sport  of  our 
Ancestors  !  The  childhood,  then,  of  the  generation  born 
about  1870  could  preserve  some  live  links  with  the  coaching 
days  ;  its  adolescence  was  passed  in  an  environment  essen- 
tially the  same  as  that  of  the  previous  generation  ;  its  man- 
hood, until  1914,  was  destined  to  reach  the  high- water  mark 
of  creature  comforts.  It  has  been  said  that  the  zenith  of 
the  British  Empire  was  reached  at  the  Diamond  Jubilee  of 
Queen  Victoria,  and  that  since  that  time  England  has  been 
coming  back  to  her  horses.  But  whatever  was  happening 
to  the  Empire,  comfort  and  convenience,  and  everything 
that  makes  for  luxury,  steadily  increased  until  the  outbreak 
of  the  War.  Aseptics  and  anaesthetics,  sanitation,  transport, 
communication,  the  best  of  everything  at  a  comparatively 
18 


Introductory 


cheap  rate  ;  all  these  things  combined  to  place  the  earlier 
years  of  the  twentieth  century  in  a  class  by  themselves. 
There  were  pinpricks,  already  indicated  at  the  beginning  of 
this  chapter.  In  some  counties  there  was  too  much  barbed 
wire  ;  in  all  counties  there  were  too  many  political  meetings. 
But  it  is  just  possible  that  to  enjoy  a  good  run  in  spite  of  these 
things  almost  added  to  the  zest  of  Fox-hunting.  In  reading 
a  Limehouse  speech  about  ourselves,  do  not  let  us  forget 
how  Joseph  Surface  reminded  Lady  Teazle  that  if  one  is  to 
be  the  centre  of  a  scandal  there  is  no  consolation  like  having 
done  something  to  deserve  it.  But  what  of  their  sport  ? 
Before  they  left  school,  Parliament,  while  Mr.  Gladstone  was 
Prime  Minister,  had  passed  the  Ground  Game  Act.  It  has 
never  been  quite  certain  what  was  the  real  object  of  the 
promoters  of  this  measure.  Was  it  an  attempt  to  increase 
agricultural  production  by  decreasing  the  head  of  ground 
game  ?  Or  was  it  an  attack  upon  the  patriarchal  system  ? 
We  are  concerned  with  the  results  rather  than  motives. 
In  so  far  as  this  Act  has  operated  to  diminish  ground  game 
it  has  been  an  unmitigated  blessing  to  Fox-hunting.  There 
is  no  doubt  that  the  matter  of  riot  gave  our  ancestors  a  very 
great  deal  of  trouble.  Beckford  is  full  of  it.  Even  the 
great  Lord  Henry  Bentinck  is  much  concerned  to  give 
minute  directions  as  to  how  to  wean  his  young  Hounds  from 
hares.  Of  course,  Hounds  may  through  generations  of 
breeding  have  become  steadier.  At  the  same  time  they 
have  less  temptation  in  the  way  of  riot.  And  not  only  do 
hares  and  rabbits  cause  Hounds  to  stare  about  instead  of 

19 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

keeping  their  noses  down,  but  they  also  foil  the  ground  and 
spoil  the  scent.  So  this  generation  has  an  advantage  in  that 
there  is  to-day  less  distraction  in  the  shape  of  riot,  mainly 
as  a  result  of  the  Ground  Game  Act :  though  if  Mr.  Gladstone 
and  his  friends  had  been  told  that  they  were  ministering  to 
the  cause  of  Fox-hunting  by  passing  it,  they  might  have  been 
very  much  astonished.  In  another  direction  the  working 
of  this  Act  has  not  been  quite  so  useful.  The  privilege  of 
killing  hares  and  rabbits  presented  itself  to  some  occupiers 
of  land  as  the  means  of  enlarging  their  opportunities  for 
sport  with  the  gun.  So  that  on  some  holdings  rabbits  in- 
creased instead  of  being  diminished,  being  encouraged  to 
breed  in  stickheaps  erected  for  the  purpose.  There  are  few 
greater  nuisances  in  a  hunting  country  than  a  stickheap. 
Vixen  lay  their  cubs  in  them,  and  litters  might  easily  be 
born,  live,  and  die  in  a  stickheap  without  ever  being  hunted, 
because  in  time  the  Foxes  will  dig  a  large  earth  under  the 
wood,  or  take  possession  of  the  rabbit  holes  and  defy  the 
cleverest  earthstopper  that  ever  was  bred.  But  the  stickheap 
nuisance  is  more  than  compensated  for  by  the  first-mentioned 
result  of  the  Act,  namely,  the  great  advantage  of  having 
got  rid  of  so  many  hares.  In  certain  countries  in  the 
Midlands  you  will  hardly  see  a  hare  from  one  end  of  the 
season  to  another  in  places  where  our  ancestors  used  to 
shoot  them  by  the  score. 

We  have  now  tried  to  sketch  the  respective  environ- 
ments of  the  three  generations  of  country  gentlemen  who 
were    born    in    the    nineteenth    century.    Which    of   them 
20 


Introductory 


had  the  best  of  it — the  grandfather  who  was  born  about 
1810,  the  father  who  was  born  about  1840,  or  the  son  who 
was  born  about  1870  ?  We  cannot  give  the  award  to  the 
son.  Quite  apart  from  the  social  and  political  unrest  that 
was  pervading  the  quiet  life  of  the  country  before  the  War, 
the  War  itself  and  its  effects  are  not  going  to  make  the  after- 
noon of  his  life  any  too  cheerful.  His  great  asset  is  the  re- 
collection of  the  sports  and  pastimes  of  his  youth.  '  We  are 
having  rather  a  thin  time  now,  old  chap,  but  we  have  had  a 
bit  of  the  old,  and  thank  goodness  !  no  one  can  take  it  away 
from  us/  is  the  kind  of  remark  that  is  made  every  day. 
Fox-hunting  will  revive,  and  the  generation  born  about  the 
beginning  of  this  century  will  enjoy  their  lives  just  as  keenly 
as  English  sportsmen  can,  but  the  setting  will  be  different. 
We  were  speaking  of  their  ancestors.  Did  the  father  born 
about  1840  or  the  grandfather  born  about  1810  have  the 
better  time  ?  It  is  a  nice  point.  On  the  whole  we  must 
decide  in  favour  of  the  grandfather.  Let  us  assume  that 
he  was  born  in  1810,  and  died  at  the  age  of  seventy-six  in 
1886.  From  the  point  of  view  of  an  agricultural  landlord 
and  a  Fox-hunter,  he  would  have  seen  the  fairest  times  tha.t 
the  nineteenth  century  could  offer.  He  would  have  seen 
rural  England  as  yet  unscarred  by  railroads.  He  would  have 
enjoyed  later  in  life  enough  of  modern  comforts  to  make 
that  life  very  pleasant.  He  would  have  seen  what  we  have 
ventured  to  call  the  Golden  Age  of  Fox-hunting,  and  would 
have  left  his  son  to  compete  with  a  diminished  rent-roll,  with 
agricultural  depression,  and  with  the  spirit  of  a  philosophy 

21 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

whose  manifestations  have  been  the  incitement  to  class 
hatred  and  the  passing  of  the  Parliament  Act.  Yes,  those 
country  gentlemen  who  came  of  age  when  England  was 
beginning  to  recover  from  her  struggle  with  Napoleon,  and 
died  before  she  felt  the  full  effect  of  her  struggle  with  Ger- 
many, must  have  drawn  a  very  lucky  number.  These  years 
roughly  correspond  with  the  lives  of  Warburton,  Whyte 
Melville,  Bromley-Davenport,  and  Trollope,  who  are  among 
the  authors  from  whose  works  we  have  chosen  specimens 
setting  forth  the  Sport  of  our  Ancestors. 


22 


CHAPTER  II 

AN  APOLOGY  TO  MR.  SURTEES 

IN  selecting  anything  in  the  nature  of  an  anthology,  the 
trouble  is  to  know  what  to  leave  out.  Some  people 
who  read  books  of  this  kind  will  think  that  if  one  of  their 
pet  classics  is  not  here  it  should  have  been  included,  and 
something  else  that  is  here  should  have  been  omitted. 
Many  will  say  quite  naturally  that  no  symposium  of  sporting 
authors  can  be  complete  unless  Surtees  is  seated  at  the 
board.  If  we  owe  an  apology  to  Surtees  for  not  inviting 
him,  we  can  equally  claim  that  we  are  paying  him  the  com- 
pliment of  putting  him  in  a  class  by  himself.  We  take  for 
granted  that  he  is  more  widely  read  than  any  other  sporting 
writer,  and  that  to  reprint  one  or  two  of  the  passages  from 
his  books  that  are  most  familiar  would  be  a  work  of  super- 
erogation. Some  of  the  gems  in  ' Handley  Cross'  are  such 
household  words,  and  have  become  so  hackneyed,  that  we 
have  not  the  hardihood  to  dish  them  up  again. 

The  correct  title  of  this  famous  work  is  so  seldom  heard 
nowadays  that  it  is  necessary  to  say  that  by  *  Handley  Cross  * 
is  meant  that  book  now  known  by  its  colloquial  or  short 
title  of  *  Jorrocks.'  This  short  title  or  nickname  is  so 
universal  that  to  talk  of  '  Handley  Cross '  sounds  almost 
affected,  and  would  seem  to  savour  of  the  phraseology  of 

23 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

those   people,  if  there  be  any  left,  who  talk  about  '  The 
Times    Newspaper,'    or    '  The    Euston     Square     Railway 
Station/    Yet  it  is  a  real  pity  if  the  dear  old  title  of'Handley 
Cross '  is  to  be  lost.    Why  not  call  books  at  any  rate  by  their 
proper  names  ?    And  such  a  happy  name  as  this  !    To  any 
one  with  a  spark  of  imagination  it  conjures  up  the  whole 
spirit  of  comedy  in  a  sporting  country  town.     Surtees  was 
clever  at  finding  titles  for  his  books  as  well  as  for  his  char- 
acters.   What  better  titles  could  there  be  than  'Ask  Mamma ' 
and  '  Plain  or  Ringlets?  '  ?    ' Mr.  Sponge's  Sporting  Tour  '  is 
rather  wordy,  and  there  is  some  excuse  for  cutting  it  down 
to  plain  *  Sponge.'    But  after  all,  perhaps  *  Handley  Cross  '  is 
justly  called  *  Jorrocks,'  because  in  the  long  run  Surtees's 
claim  to  fame  must  rest  on  his  invention  of  Mr.  John  Jorrocks. 
Other  characters  in  his  books,  such  as  Mr.  Sponge  or  Jawley- 
ford,  are  indeed  cleverly  drawn,  but  for  downright,  honest, 
straightforward  portraiture  there  is  nothing  to  touch  this 
picture  of  the  sporting  grocer.     It  is  original.    The  snobs 
and  hangers-on  and  chalk  sportsmen  of  the  other  books  are 
vastly  well,  but  we  have  met  them  before.    Jorrocks  he 
caught  in  the  counting-house  of  Great  Coram  Street,  and 
he  shows  us  how  the  spirit  of  the  Chase  compelled  the  mer- 
chant to  become  a  master  of  Foxhounds,  in  spite  of  his  being 
a  poor  horseman  with  bow  window,  round  thighs,  and  no 
nerve.    There  is  no  greater  tribute  to  the  fascination  of 
Fox-hunting  than  the  mental  and  physical  suffering  which 
some  people  will  endure  in  its  pursuit  sooner  than  stop  at 
home.     Surtees  must  have  ridden  about  a  great  deal  with 
24 


^Apology  to  ^Mr.  Surtees 

the  rearguard  of  the  hunt  composed  of  the  road,  gate,  and 
gap  brigade.  How  well  he  understands  the  feelings  of  the 
funker  !  And  how  kindly  he  expresses  them  when  he  makes 
Mr.  Jorrocks  soliloquise  during  a  run.  Here  are  two  choice 
specimens.  Mr.  Jorrocks  was  alone  with  the  hounds  on 
the  famous  Cat  and  Custard  Pot  Day.  (It  will  be  re- 
membered that  James  Pigg  arrived  at  the  meet  drunk,  and 
was  sent  home,  while  a  suggestion  from  Harry  Capper 
that  a  subscription  should  be  raised  for  Pigg,  with  whom 
there  seems  to  have  been  some  sympathy,  had  the  effect  of 
dispersing  the  field.)  No  one  to  show  him  the  way  down 
bridle  roads.  *  "  'Eavens  be  praised,  'ere  's  a  gate,"  as  his 
quick  eye  caught  sight  of  one  in  the  corner  of  the  field.' 
On  another  occasion  he  exclaims,  '  What  a  huntsman  I 
should  be  if  it  were  not  for  the  leaps/  It  would  be  inter- 
esting to  know  how  many  huntsmen  have  said,  or  at  least 
thought,  something  of  the  kind.  This  last  saying  is  in- 
tensely human,  and  is  one  of  the  best  things  in  the  book. 
It  hits  the  feelings  of  the  funker  bang  in  the  middle  of  the 
note.  It  gives  with  one  touch  nearly  everything  that  has 
made  Mr.  Jorrocks  a  sportsman,  vital,  human,  and  enduring. 
For  the  old  man  understood  all  about  Fox-hunting.  In 
the  back  office  of  his  tea-dealing  establishment  in  London 
he  had  mastered  the  theory  of  the  Chase  by  reading  Beck- 
ford  until  he  knew  him  backwards.  He  had  seen  some- 
thing of  the  practice  of  the  art  in  the  hills  of  Surrey  where 
there  were  not  too  many  fences.  Then  he  comes  down  to 
the  stiffly  enclosed  vale  of  Sheep  wash,  and  would  give 

25 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

everything  he  is  worth,  Great  Coram  Street  and  all,  to 
catch  a  fox  without  the  assistance  of  Pigg  ;  and  the  one 
thing  denied  to  him,  rich,  healthy,  enthusiastic,  well-versed 
in  woodcraft,  is  just  that  little  touch  of  resolution  that  is 
wanted  to  carry  him  over  the  fences,  take  him  to  his  Hounds, 
and  make  him  the  proudest  and  happiest  man  in  England. 
Laugh  one  must,  yet  there  is  a  tear  in  the  laughter.  How 
on  occasion  he  must  have  envied  James  Pigg  his  undeniable 
nerve,  an  attribute  not  to  be  bought  with  all  the  wealth 
of  all  the  counting-houses  in  Europe. 

His  lack  of  nerve  he  could  not  control.  He  does  not 
seem  to  have  tried  to  control  his  fondness  for  port  wine 
and  brandy  and  water.  Over-indulgence  in  the  pleasures 
of  the  table  was  near  to  undoing  him  more  than  once,  as, 
for  instance,  on  the  night  when  everything  after  dinner 
suddenly  became  oblivion  until  he  was  aroused  by  the  cold 
water  in  the  swimming  bath  at  my  Lord  Bramber's  of 
Ongar  Castle.  Perhaps  it  would  be  charitable  to  put  this 
down  to  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  age  in  which  he 
lived.  But  Mr.  Jorrocks  had  another  weakness,  appar- 
ently common  to  other  ages,  which  also  nearly  destroyed 
him.  He  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  trying  to  get 
his  name  into  print  as  a  successful  M.F.H.  How  edifying 
for  his  city  associates  to  read  of  their  merchant  friend's 
career  as  M.F.H.,  and  to  see  him  handed  down  to  posterity 
in  the  company  of  Musters  and  Meynell  and  Corbet !  The 
letter  in  which  he  invited  the  great  Pomponius  Ego  to 
come  down  and  write  *  the  puff  direct '  is  worth  preserving. 
26 


to  3\fr.  Surtees 

Here  it  is  : — 

'  DEAR  MR.  HEGO, — If  your  intercourse  with  Dukes  and  other 
great  guns  o'  the  world,  leaves  any  margin  for  the  doin's  of  the 
pop-guns  o'  the  chase,  I  shall  be  werry  'appy  if  you  will  come  here 
and  take  a  look  at  our  most  provincial  pack.  In  course  I  needn't 
tell  you  that  my  'ouse  is  not  large  enough  to  require  a  kiver  'ack 
to  canter  from  the  dinin'  to  the  drawin'-room,  neither  is  the  pack 
on  a  par  with  many  you  have  seen  ;  but  I  can  give  you  a  good  blow- 
out, both  in  the  way  of  wittles  and  drink,  and  shall  be  'appy  to  "  put 
you  up,"  as  they  say  in  the  cut-me-downs,  on  as  good  a  quad  as  I 
can,  and  show  you  sich  sport  as  the  country  will  afford.  Entre 
nous,  as  we  say  in  France,  I  want  to  be  famous,  and  you  know  how 
to  do  it.  In  course  mum's  the  word. — Yours  to  serve, 

'  JOHN  JORROCKS. 

'  P.S. — Compts.  to  Julius  Seizeher  and  all  the  ancient  Romans 
when  you  write. 

*  To  Pomponius  Ego,  Esq.,  Calais.' 

The  acceptance  to  this  invitation,  the  day's  hunting, 
and  Pomponius  Ego's  puff  that  appeared  in  the  Heavy 
Triumvirate  are  all  treated  in  Surtees 's  most  fortunate  vein 
of  burlesque.  The  anxious  consultation  between  Jorrocks 
and  Pigg  as  to  the  particular  form  of  *  fake  '  to  be  employed 
to  make  certain  of  a  run  and  a  kill  ;  their  decision  to  run 
a  drag  and  shake  a  Fox  out  of  a  bag  at  the  end  of  it ;  the 
hideous  uncertainty  when  it  looked  as  if  the  man  with  the 
bag  had  failed  to  play  the  game ;  the  ultimate  triumph ;  the 
dinner  at  Diana  Lodge ;  the  ill-bred  disparagement  of  the 
whole  thing  by  Pomponius  Ego  in  his  article,  and  the 
consequent  chagrin  of  Mr.  Jorrocks,  are  all  well  worth 
reading  of  again.  It  is  generally  accepted  that  Mr.  Apperley 

27 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

(Nimrod)  was  the  prototype  of  Pomponius  Ego.  Poor 
Mr.  Apperley  !  If  he  sate  for  the  portrait  the  artist  has 
been  cruel.  Nobody  can  have  been  nearly  such  an  ass  as 
Pomponius  Ego.  But  to  paint  pleasing  portraits  with  his 
pen  was  not  characteristic  of  Surtees.  With  one  or  two 
exceptions,  such  as  Squire  Jovey  Jessop  in '  Plain  or  Ringlets? ' 
and  Michael  Hardy  in  *  Handley  Cross,'  there  is  hardly  a  lov- 
able character  in  the  whole  of  his  gallery.  There  is  nothing 
gentle  or  noble  about  any  of  them.  The  Duke  of  Tergiver- 
sation in  his  social  and  private  life  was  the  slimmest  of  the 
slim,  having  at  his  command  *  an  engaging  smile,  well 
calculated  to  throw  a  stranger  off  his  guard/  He  would  do 
you  if  he  could.  Politically  he  was  a  turncoat  of  the  most 
versatile  description,  who  was  always  ready  to  rat  at  a 
moment's  notice  if  there  was  the  slightest  glimmer  of  office. 
If  he  had  lived  any  time  during  the  last  fifty  years,  he  would 
probably  have  begun  his  career  as  a  Gladstonian  Radical 
and  finished  it  as  a  Die-Hard.  The  Earl  of  Scamperdale 
was  a  coarse  and  repellent  backwoodsman  who  could  not 
speak  the  truth  if  he  tried.  And  so  with  all  the  others. 
You  may  search  his  books  from  end  to  end  without  finding 
a  single  individual,  unless  it  were  Lucy  Glitters  for  the  sake 
of  her  good  looks,  in  whose  society  you  would  care  to  spend 
the  evening.  But  the  function  of  the  satirist  is  not  to  manu- 
facture characters  like  Jane  Eyre.  He  is  concerned  with 
the  petty  and  the  sordid  and  the  vulgar.  And  in  doing  so 
Surtees  has  made  for  himself  a  name  which  has  already 
stood  the  test  of  three-quarters  of  a  century,  and  bids  fair 
28 


Jfn  ^Apology  to  3\fr.  Surtees 

to  outlive  most  of  his  contemporaries.  Mr.  Jorrocks  was 
the  fine  flower  of  his  imagination,  and  perhaps  the  Pom- 
ponius  Ego  incident  is  one  of  the  best  illustrations  of  the 
character  of  Mr.  Jorrocks. 

*  Handley  Cross '  probably  has  more  readers  than  any  of 
the  other  books.  There  is  enough  in  it  of  different  kinds 
to  satisfy  every  one.  Those  who  like  the  orange-peel  and 
butter-slide  sort  of  humour  can  revel  in  such  incidents  as 
Pigg  in  the  melon  frame,  or  Mr.  Jorrocks  calling  Benjamin 
for  hunting  with  the  cold-water  jug.  For  those  who  rejoice 
in  burlesque  there  are,  as  well  as  the  Pomponius  Ego  day, 
the  several  excursions  of  James  Pigg  and  his  master,  Mr. 
Jorrocks 's  lectures,  and  the  sale  of  Xerxes  to  Captain  Doleful. 
For  the  real  lover  of  the  Chase  there  is  Michael  Hardy's  day 
at  the  beginning  of  the  book,  one  of  the  most  fascinating 
descriptions  of  a  run  in  the  whole  of  fiction.  But  the  whole 
spirit  of  *  Handley  Cross  '  is  the  spirit  of  adventure  which  led 
the  prosperous  tea-dealer  to  become  M.F.H.  This  same 
spirit  also  animated  Mr.  Romford,  and  is  mainly  responsible 
for  the  popularity  of  'Mr.  Romford's  Hounds. '  One  has  a 
sneaking  affection  for  Facey,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he 
was  a  rogue  and  a  poacher,  because  he  was  really  devoted 
to  Fox-hunting  for  its  own  sake.  With  another  impostor, 
in  the  person  of  Mr.  Sponge,  one  can  have  no  sympathy. 
His  one  respectable  accomplishment  was  his  horsemanship. 
Yet  *  Mr.  Sponge's  Sporting  Tour  '  can  be  read  with  pleasure 
by  any  one  who  has  a  sense  of  humour,  and  who  likes  to  study 
the  manners  and  customs  of  the  mid- Victorian  epoch.  The 

29 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

various  places  where  Mr.  Sponge  got  himself  invited  to 
stay,  and  the  difficulty  that  all  his  hosts  and  hostesses  had 
to  get  rid  of  him,  are  described  by  the  hand  of  one  who 
was  a  master  in  setting  forth  the  snobbishness  to  which 
human  nature  can  sometimes  stoop.  Surtees's  description 
of  Sponge's  visit  to  Jawleyford  Court  is  admitted  by  many 
good  judges  who  have  never  been  out  hunting  in  their 
lives  to  be  the  very  best  of  its  kind.  His  portrait  of  Jawley- 
ford is  a  masterpiece.  He  takes  less  time  to  paint  Jawley- 
ford than  he  takes  to  paint  Jorrocks.  Jorrocks  occupies  a 
whole  book,  like  Tom  Jones.  Jawleyford  with  his  shoddy 
picture  gallery,  his  rabbit-pie  luncheon,  his  frock-coated 
address  to  the  tenantry,  his  sour  claret,  his  false  good  fellow- 
ship, and  his  weakness  for  a  title,  are  all  done  with  the 
greatest  ease  in  some  half-dozen  chapters.  It  is  difficult  to 
say  which  of  the  facets  of  Sponge's  visit  to  Jawleyford  Court 
is  the  most  amusing.  Our  own  choice  is  the  wet  morning  in 
the  art  gallery.  It  would  be  sacrilege  to  try  to  describe  it. 
The  frames  of  mind  of  host  and  guest  cannot  be  better 
indicated  than  by  the  books  they  were  reading.  Jawley- 
ford, as  a  sacrifice  to  cultivation,  had  been  reading  Disraeli's 
'Lord  George  Bentinck'  though  it  is  doubtful  if  he  under- 
stood it.  Still,  it  was  the  book  of  the  day  that  should  be 
on  every  gentleman's  table,  even  if  the  leaves  were  uncut. 
Sponge's  pursuit  of  literature  was  confined  to  a  close  study 
of  the  invaluable  '  Mogg's  Cab  Fares.'  From  this  promising 
antithesis  of  outlook  the  author  gives  us  a  comedy  scene 
which  must  be  read  to  be  appreciated. 

30 


Apology  to  {Mr.  Surtees 

4  Ask  Mamma '  is  quite  as  good  a  comedy  of  manners  as 
Sponge's  Sporting  Tour.'    The  central  figure  is  Billy 
Pringle,  reputed  to  be  the  richest  commoner  in  England. 
His  mother  had  been  a  lady's  maid,  and  wore  a  ruby  ring 
which  '  that  gallant  old  philanthropist '  the  Earl  of  Lady- 
thorne  of  Tantivy  Castle  had  slipped  upon  her  finger  as  he 
met  her  (accidentally  of  course)  in  the  passage  early  one 
morning  at  the  house  of  her  employer  Lady  Delacey.    As 
the    widow    Pringle    she    lived    in    Curtain    Crescent — not 
Pimlico,    but   Belgravia — and   his   lordship's   saddle-horses 
might  often  be  seen  tossing  their  heads  in  front  of  her  door 
on  a  summer's  afternoon.    Billy  was  launched  into  society 
by  a  hunting  visit  to  Tantivy  Castle.    The  description  of 
the  Earl  and  his  castle  is  one  of  Mr.  Surtees 's  best,  and  after 
allowing  for  the  exaggeration  which  the  author  admits  in  his 
preface,  is  an  indication  of  what  really  could  be  done,  and 
perhaps  was  done,  in  the  stately  homes  of  England  before 
the   days   of  the  illustrated  penny  press.    There  was   no 
Countess   of   Ladythorne.     It   was   the   reigning   favourite 
who  dispensed  the  honours  of  the  castle  to  such  of  the 
local  toadies  as  would  accept  them  ;   his  lordship  drove  her 
to  the  meet  in  his  carriage  and  four,  and  would  then  ex- 
change her  society  for  that  of  the  famous  coquette  Miss  de 
Glancy,  whom  he  piloted  and  made  love  to  in  the  hunting- 
field.    This   was   the   wicked   old   gentleman   whom   good 
Queen  Victoria  had  in  her  innocence  made  Lord-Lieutenant 
of  Featherbedfordshire.    Billy's  account  of  the  establishment 
in  his  letters  to  his  mother,  and  his  mother's  answers,  full 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

of  backstairs  worldly  wisdom,  and  advice  as  to  the  different 
way  he  should  behave  were  he  in  a  nobleman's  castle  or 
in  the  house  of  a  commoner,  should  on  no  account  be 
missed. 

Mrs.  Pringle  writes  to  her  son  in  a  manner  which  is 
almost  Chesterfieldian,  and  displays  an  acquaintance  with 
the  manners  and  customs  of  the  servants  hardly  less  intimate 
than  that  of  Dean  Swift.  In  one  respect  she  will  gain  our 
sympathy  more  readily  than  Lord  Chesterfield.  He  despised 
Fox-hunting,  saying  that  it  was  only  fit  for  bumpkins  and 
boobies.  Mrs.  Pringle  knew  better.  She  despised  every 
sport  except  Fox-hunting.  Her  ideas  about  Fox-hunting 
were  rather  vague,  but  her  instinct  told  her  that  *  the  best 
introduction  for  a  young  man  of  fortune  was  at  the  covert 
side.*  But  Billy  did  not  exactly  enjoy  his  first  day's  hunting. 
He  was  not  only  thoroughly  frightened,  but  suffered  sharply 
from  loss  of  cuticle  ;  and  wrote  to  his  mamma  suggesting 
that  he  should  leave  the  castle  before  losing  any  more. 
She  did  not  wish  him  to  outstay  his  welcome  there,  but 
was  determined  that  he  should  become  a  Fox-hunter.  So 
she  wrote  to  him  regarding  the  length  of  his  visit,  and 
also  knew  well  how  to  appeal  to  his  love  of  clothes 
in  order  that  he  might  be  induced  to  stick  to  the  hunting- 
field,  and  so  get  himself  on  in  the  world.  Her  letter 
will  bear  quoting.  The  opening  of  it  will  be  better 
understood  if  one  remembers  that  on  arriving  at  the  castle 
Billy  had  mistaken  the  groom  of  the  chambers  for  the 
Earl. 

32 


Jin  ^Apology  to  fMr.  Surtees 

1  25  CURTAIN  CRESCENT, 
'  BELGRAVE  SQUARE,  LONDON. 

*  MY  OWN  DEAREST  WILLIAM, — I  was  overjoyed,  my  own  darling, 
to  receive  your  kind  letter,  and  hear  that  you  had  arrived  safe,  and 
found  his  Lord.ship  so  kind  and  agreeable.     I  thought  you  had 
known  him  by  sight,  or  I  would  have  prevented  your  making  the 
mistake  by  describing  him  to  you.     However,  there  is  no  harm  done. 
In  a  general  way,  the  great  man  of  the  place  is  oftentimes  the  least. — 
The  most  accessible,  that  is  to  say.     The  Earl  is  an  excellent,  kind- 
hearted  man,  and  it  will  do  you  great  good  among  your  companions 
to  be  known  to  be  intimate  with  him,  for  I  can  assure  you  it  is  not 
every  one  he  takes  up  with.     Of  course,  there  are  people  who  abuse 
him,  and  say  he  is  this  and  that,  and  so  on  ;    but  you  must  take 
people — especially  great  ones — as  you  find  them  in  this  world  ;  and 
he  is  quite  as  good  as  his  whites  of  their  eyes  turning-up  neighbours. 
Don't,  however,  presume  on  his  kindness  by  attempting  to  stay 
beyond  what  he  presses  you  to  do,  for  two  short  visits  tell  better 
than  one  long  one,  looking  as  though  you  had  been  approved  of. 
You  can  easily  find  out  from  the  butler  or  the  groom  of  the  chambers, 
or  some  of  the  upper  servants,  how  long  you  are  expected  to  stay,  or 
perhaps  some  of  the  guests  can  tell  you  how  long  they  are  invited  for. 

*  I  had  written  thus  far  when  your  second  welcome  letter  arrived, 
and  I  can't  tell  you  how  delighted  I  am  to  hear  you  are  safe  and 
well,  though  I  'm  sorry  to  hear  you  don't  like  hunting,  for  I  assure 
you  it  is  the  best  of  all  possible  sports,  and  there  is  none  that  admits 
of  such  elegant  variety  of  costume. 

'  Look  at  a  shooter — what  a  ragamuffin  dress  his  is,  hardly  dis- 
tinguishable from  a  keeper  ;  and  yachters  and  cricketers  might  be 
taken  for  ticket-of-leave  men.  I  should  be  very  sorry  indeed  if  you 
were  not  to  persevere  in  your  hunting  ;  for  a  red  coat  and  leathers  are 
quite  your  become,  and  there  is  none,  in  my  opinion,  in  which  a 
gentleman  looks  so  well,  or  a  snob  so  ill.  Learning  to  hunt  can't 
be  more  disagreeable  than  learning  to  sail  or  smoke,  and  see  how 
many  hundreds — thousands  I  may  say — overcome  the  difficulty  every 
year,  and  blow  their  clouds,  as  they  call  them,  on  the  quarterdeck, 

C  33 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

as  though  they  had  been  born  sailors  with  pipes  in  their  mouths. 
Remember,  if  you  can't  manage  to  sit  your  horse,  you  '11  be  fit  for 
nothing,  but  a  seat  in  Parliament  along  with  Captain  Catlap  and  the 
other  incurables.  I  can't  think  there  can  be  much  difficulty  in  the 
matter,  judging  from  the  lumpy  wash-bailey  sort  of  men  one  hears 
talking  about  it.  I  should  think  if  you  had  a  horse  of  your  own, 
you  would  be  able  to  make  better  cut.  Whatever  you  do,  however, 
have  nothing  to  do  with  racing.  It 's  only  for  rogues  and  people 
who  have  more  money  than  they  know  what  to  do  with,  and  to  whom 
it  doesn't  matter  whether  they  win  or  they  lose.  .  .  .  No  gentle- 
man need  expect  to  make  money  on  the  turf,  for  if  you  were  to  win 
they  wouldn't  pay  you,  whereas  if  you  lose  it 's  quite  a  different 
thing.  One  of  the  beauties  of  hunting  is  that  people  have  no  induce- 
ment to  poison  each  other  ;  whereas  in  racing,  from  poisoning  horses 
they  have  got  to  poisoning  men,  besides  which  one  party  must  lose 
if  the  other  is  to  win.  Mutual  advantage  is  impossible.  Another 
thing  if  you  were  to  win  ever  so,  the  trainer  would  always  keep  his 
little  bill  in  advance  of  your  gains,  or  he  would  be  a  very  bad  trainer.' 

Before  we  leave  him,  we  suggest  that  *  The  Earl  of 
Ladythorne  of  Tantivy  Castle  and  Belvedere  House,  London  * 
is  one  of  the  happiest  titles  in  the  whole  of  fiction,  connoting 
as  it  does  the  gallantry,  the  gaiety,  the  *  glad  eye,'  the  love 
of  sport,  and  the  hereditary  wealth  which  were  the  attributes 
of  the  great  nobleman  who  lived  in  an  age  when  he  could 
do  what  he  liked  with  impunity. 

From  the  castle  Billy  went  to  Major  Yammerton,  and 
thence  to  Sir  Moses  Mainchance,  M.F.H.  Major  Yammer- 
ton  was  a  pretentious  little  squire,  and  master  of  harriers, 
and  might  easily  have  stepped  out  of  Thackeray's  'Book  of 
Snobs.9  Sir  Moses  Mainchance 's  title  speaks  for  itself. 
The  whole  book  is  full  of  wit  and  wisdom,  sustained  to  the 

34 


^Apology  to  3\fr.  Surtees 


very  last  page.  It  also  contains  an  interesting  essay  or  two 
on  farming  in  the  forties  and  fifties,  exemplified  by  the 
tenants  on  the  estate  that  Sir  Moses  Mainchance  had  pur- 
chased. Mr.  Leech's  picture  of  Sir  Moses  interviewing 
Mrs.  Turnbull  in  the  hall  at  Pangburn  Park  on  the  rent  day 
is  one  of  the  finest  caricatures  that  even  he  ever  drew  ;  and 
indeed  the  great  artist's  illustrations  throughout  the  book 
are  some  of  the  finest  examples  of  his  craftsmanship,  acknow- 
ledged more  than  once  by  the  author  in  the  pages  of  *  Ask 
Mamma* 

Mr.  Surtees  has  outlived  many  of  his  contemporaries, 
and  is  still  full  of  running.  lHandley  Cross  '  may  be  said  to 
have  attained  to  the  dignity  of  a  classic.  It  is  possible  that 
Mr.  Pickwick  may  have  more  acquaintances  than  Mr. 
Jorrocks.  But  Mr.  Jorrocks  is  one  of  the  master  portraits 
in  the  Victorian  gallery.  If  he  is  not,  who  is  ?  When  one 
looks  to-day  at  the  bewildering  mass  of  modern  works  in 
a  railway  station  bookstall,  one  often  wonders  who  reads 
them  all,  and  if  any  of  the  characters  portrayed  in  their 
pages  will  live  in  the  mind's  eye  of  our  children  in  the  same 
way  that,  say,  Becky  Sharp,  Mr.  Pickwick,  Mr.  Jorrocks, 
Mrs.  Proudie,  Sir  Willoughby  Patterne,  or  Hetty  Sorrel  live 
in  our  own.  These  names  are  taken  almost  at  random  ; 
with  many  others  they  are  lifelong  friends  and  companions 
to  those  of  us  who  have  cultivated  them.  There  are  many 
modern  authors  who  are  entitled  to  profound  gratitude 
for  diverting  the  mind  in  the  midst  of  the  devastating  worry 
of  modern  life.  But  do  they  appeal  to  us  by  their  art  of 

35 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

depicting  an  atmosphere  and  an  environment,  or  do  they 
get  their  effect  by  the  delineation  of  personality  and  char- 
acter ?  Mr.  Surtees  certainly  succeeds  in  both  ways.  No 
one  can  deny  his  skill  in  penetrating  character.  And  even 
the  most  serious  student  of  the  countryside  of  the  last 
century  will  derive  profit  from  reading  his  works.  For  our 
author  had  the  great  advantage  of  knowing  his  subject. 
He  was  himself  a  sportsman  and  country  gentleman,  being 
the  owner  of  Hamsterley  Hall,  near  Newcastle-on-Tyne. 
The  date  of  his  birth  is  not  recorded  in  l  Burke*  s  Landed 
Gentry,'  but  he  was  married  in  1841,  and  died  in  1864,  so  he 
saw  the  country  pass  through  the  shoals  of  Reform  Bill, 
railways,  and  Repeal  of  the  Corn  Laws,  into  the  smooth 
water  of  the  fifties.  He  hunted  with  many  English  packs, 
as  well  as  on  the  fells  of  Northumberland  and  Berwickshire. 
It  must  have  been  on  these  hunting  tours  that  he  met  the 
prototypes  from  which  he  is  believed  to  have  modelled— 
not  always  too  mercifully — some  of  the  characters  in  his 
books.  His  style  of  writing  is  animated  by  a  keen  sense 
of  the  ridiculous,  and  fortified  by  an  acute  observation  of 
the  tendencies  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived. 


CHAPTER    III 

MR.  EGERTON  WARBURTON 

R)WLAND  EYLES  EGERTON  WARBURTON  of 
Warburton  and  Arley  in  the  county  of  Cheshire 
succeeded  in  the  year  1813  to  the  estates,  but  not 
to  the  title,  of  his  great-uncle,  Sir  Peter  Warburton,  fifth 
baronet  of  Arley.  He  was  born  in  1804  and  died  in  1891, 
and  is  known  to  posterity  as  the  Poet  Laureate  of  the  Tar- 
porley  Hunt,  and  indeed  of  the  county  of  Cheshire,  for  in 
addition  to  his  *  Hunting- Songs y  he  published  *  Cheshire 
Ballads'  a  kind  of  Ingoldsby  Legends  of  his  own  part  of 
the  world.  He  also  wrote  a  book  of  *  Poems,  Epigrams,  and 
Sonnets'  which  probably  has  to-day  very  few  readers..  But 
his  l  Hunting- Songs  '  have  survived.  To  reduce  Fox-hunting 
to  verse  is  a  doubtful  operation.  But  on  the  whole  Mr.  War- 
burton  performs  it  as  well  as  any  other  bard  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  and  probably  better  than  most  of  them.  He  has 
also  preserved  for  posterity  the  convivial  atmosphere  of  the 
Tarporley  Hunt  Club,  founded  in  1762.  The  home  of  this 
club  is  the  Swan  Inn  at  Tarporley,  where  much  claret 
has  been  drunk  by  many  generations  of  Smith -Barrys, 
Warburtons,  Herons,  Mainwarings,  Davenports,  Chol- 
mondeleys,  Leghs,  and  many  other  Cheshire  families. 
They  must  have  been  jolly  fellows,  those  Cheshire 

37 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

squires.      Does     not    their    own     poet     make    them    say 

so  ? 

'  A  Club  of  good  fellows,  we  meet  once  a  year.' 

Then  come  their  noble  sentiments  :— 

'  We  hold  in  abhorrence  all  vulpicide  knaves 
With  their  gins  and  their  traps,  and  their  velveteen  slaves. 

Since  one  fox  on  foot  more  diversion  will  bring 

Than  twice  twenty  thousand  cock  pheasants  on  wing, 

That  man  we  all  honour,  whate'er  be  his  rank, 

Whose  heart  heaves  a  sigh  when  his  gorse  is  drawn  blank.' 

The  Fox  is  the  thing.  Mr.  Warburton  sings  of  the  un- 
doubted superiority  of  hunting  the  Fox  over  deer- stalking, 
hare-hunting,  otter-hunting,  fishing,  shooting,  cock-fighting, 
and  bull-fighting.  It  would  be  interesting  if  he  had  found 
time  to  devote  a  line  to  pig-sticking.  Pig-sticking  is  the 
only  field  sport  that  might  be  favourably  compared  with 
Fox-hunting  by  people  who  have  done  both.  Fox-hunting 
and  pig-sticking  alike  produce  a  sensation  that  is  afforded 
by  no  other  field  sport,  namely,  the  sensation  of  pace.  Other 
field  sports,  such  as  shooting  on  foot  at  dangerous  game, 
have  the  excitement  of  taking  risks,  but  do  not  produce  the 
exhilaration  of  taking  risks  at  full  speed.  It  is  true  that 
there  are  occasions,  such  as  running  away  from  a  wounded 
elephant,  when  full  speed  is  the  only  thing.  But  this  is 
done  on  foot,  and  pedestrianism,  however  nimble,  cannot 
be  compared  with  masterly  equestrianism.  Colonel  John 
Buchan,  in  his  very  charming  'Memoir  of  Francis  and  River s- 
dale  GrenjellJ  quotes  a  letter  from  Francis  to  Riversdale, 

38 


.  Egerton  Warburton 


dated   soon   after  the  writer   had   exchanged  into  the 
Lancers  from  the  6oth. 

Francis  draws  the  comparison  between  foot  and  horse 
with  the  candour  free  from  offence  that  seems  to  have  been 
one  of  the  most  engaging  characteristics  of  the  twins  : 
'  Of  course,  I  find  the  riding  chaps  superior  in  the  same 
way  as  we  Fox-hunters  think  the  huntsman  superior  to  the 
gamekeeper.  If  you  can't  grip  my  meaning,  it  would  take 
me  so  much  time  to  explain  that  you  would  become  weary,  so 
I  will  leave  you  in  darkness/  Isn't  this  delightful  ?  Francis 
Grenfell  was  right.  No  words,  not  even  a  Baconian  essay, 
could  make  it  clear  to  any  one  who  had  not  the  temperament, 
why  riding,  provided  you  know  how  to  ride,  is  so  vastly 
superior  to  walking.  But  it  is.  An  advantage  that  the 
pig-sticker  may  legitimately  claim  over  the  Fox-hunter  is 
that  he  does  the  deed  himself  instead  of  having  to  watch 
the  huntsman  doing,  or  trying  to  do  it. 

True,  but  in  a  day's  Fox-hunting  the  adventure  is  by  no 
means  confined  to  the  huntsman.  The  mere  riding  to  Hounds 
is  enough  fun  for  most  people.  And  the  whole  environ- 
ment of  Fox-hunting  makes  even  a  moderate  day  with  the 
Foxhounds  better  than  a  good  day  at  anything  else.  Rivers- 
dale  Grenfell  knew  all  about  this.  He  had  been  to  stay 
with  Francis  for  a  week's  pig-sticking,  and  Colonel  Buchan 
tells  us  that  his  diary  records  his  disappointment  :  — 

*'  Most  of  us  came  to  the  conclusion  that  even  if  the  pig  were 
there  it  could  not  be  compared  to  fox-hunting.  One  wants  to  find 
a  pig  every  fifteen  minutes  to  make  it  really  amusing.  Another 

39 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

drawback  to  my  mind  is  that  when  a  party  goes  out,  if  one  party 
enjoys  it  the  other  members  have  probably  had  no  rides,  and  so 
been  bored  to  death.' 

Of  course  it  is  difficult  to  compare  one  sport  with  another, 
as  each  one  has  its  own  peculiar  charm.  Perhaps  the  acid 
test  is  the  length  of  time  for  which  one  sport  continues  to  be 
amusing.  And  in  this  regard  Fox-hunting  wins  in  a  canter. 
One  cannot  imagine  going  out  four  or  five  times  a  week  six 
or  seven  months  in  the  year  for  any  sport  other  than  Fox- 
hunting. Pig-sticking  for  a  fortnight  or  so  every  now  and 
again,  yes  ;  but  for  six  months  without  a  break,  no.  If  one 
were  very  fit  and  abstemious  one  might  go  out  deer-stalking 
four  or  five  times  a  week  for  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks  with- 
out getting  unduly  stale  and  ceasing  to  enjoy  it.  But  for 
six  months  .  .  .  ?  Deer-stalking  indeed  has  something  in 
common  with  Fox-hunting  in  that  two  stalks  are  never 
exactly  the  same.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  one  stalk  is  more 
like  another  stalk  than  one  run  with  the  Foxhounds  is  like 
another  run.  And  the  reason  of  this  is  that  most  runs 
bring  a  constant  change  of  scenery.  Sport  on  foot  limits 
the  outlook. 

Deer-stalking  is,  however,  the  only  field  sport  in  the  British 
Isles  besides  Fox-hunting  that  calls  for  anything  like  physical 
endurance.  Trying  to  round  up  a  wild  covey  of  partridges 
in  a  grass  country  where  all  the  fields  seem  to  be  not  less 
than  a  hundred  acres  is  certainly  fatiguing  and  produces  a 
most  enviable  thirst,  but  there  is  nothing  in  it  approaching 
to  exposure  or  distress.  But  certain  phases  of  a  day's  deer- 
40 


.  Rgerton  Warburton 


stalking  can  produce  a  colourable  imitation  of  both  these 
experiences.  Of  course  nothing  really  matters,  as  one  is 
certain  to  get  home  sooner  or  later  to  a  comfortable  shooting- 
lodge  and  all  that  it  means.  But  while  the  exposure  is 
actually  proceeding  it  can  be  very  real.  By  exposure  we 
mean  lying  on  a  hill-top  in  a  blizzard  waiting  for  a  stag  to 
get  up,  or  for  a  hind  to  feed  away  out  of  sight.  The  shiver- 
ing agony  may  be  intensified  by  having  sweated  freely  in 
walking  up  the  hill.  After  lying  prone  for  a  few  moments, 
not  uncommonly  in  the  snow,  the  once  warm  flannel  shirt 
becomes  an  icy-  cold  wet  compress,  the  teeth  chatter,  the 
hands  and  feet  become  numb.  Not  even  the  thought  of  the 
hot  bath  and  the  smoking-room  fire  can  sustain  one,  and  we 
begin  to  wonder  why  we  ever  left  the  perfect  temperature  of 
the  club-house  in  Pall  Mall.  Some  such  thoughts  as  these 
are  also  present  to  the  mind  during  a  stiff  climb,  particularly 
through  long  heather,  the  most  trying  of  all  things  to  walk 
in.  A  stag  has  been  spied  on  the  opposite  slope  of  a  corrie, 
whose  Gaelic  name  translated  into  the  English  tongue  is 
4  The  Steep  Corrie/  Ominous  name  !  You  are  already 
high  up  and  vainly  hoping  your  stalker  will  let  you  walk  round 
the  top  of  the  corrie  and  come  in  on  him  from  above.  It 
looks  so  easy,  and  above  all  so  short.  You  would  back 
yourself  to  do  it  in  twenty  minutes.  It  seems  a  shame  to 
throw  away  the  ascent  you  have  already  gained.  You 
summon  up  courage  to  suggest  your  plan  to  the  stalker, 
feeling  all  the  time  that  it  will  be  turned  down.  And  so  it 
is.  You  are  told  you  must  go  right  down  to  the  foot  of  the 

41 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

corrie,  cross  the  burn,  and  climb  all  the  way  up  the  opposite 
shoulder.  You  had  rather  a  long  walk  the  day  before,  and 
do  not  feel  too  fresh.  You  begin  the  descent,  and  keep 
wondering  whether  it  is  more  distressing  to  go  downhill 
than  uphill.  Going  downhill  is  not  so  trying  to  the  wind, 
but  the  legs  seem  to  be  made  of  paper,  and  to  fold  up  under 
you.  You  almost  welcome  the  thought  of  the  climb  that 
is  before  you,  but  when  the  climb  begins  you  long  for  the 
descent  once  more.  The  first  half-hour  is  through  thick, 
long  heather,  which  necessitates  lifting  each  foot  ever  so 
high  at  every  step.  It  would  seem  that  wind  and  limb  alike 
are  now  strained  to  the  breaking-point,  and  you  wish  your- 
self anywhere  else  in  the  whole  wide  world.  Is  it  worth 
it  ?  Why  spend  all  this  money  on  the  agony  of  stalking 
when  you  can  sit  in  a  chair  at  home  free  from  pain,  and  for 
nothing  ?  Is  the  stalker  never  going  to  stop  ?  You  almost 
begin  to  hate  him.  At  last  the  heather  gets  shorter  and 
gives  way  to  moss  and  stones.  The  stalker  only  goes  all 
the  faster  on  the  easier  going  ;  but  just  as  the  world  seems 
to  be  coming  to  an  end,  he  sits  down  on  the  very  top,  and 
you  fling  yourself  on  the  ground  beside  him.  Then  come 
twenty  minutes  of  the  reptilian  movement  along  the  face 
of  the  hill  in  full  view  of  some  hinds,  and  presently  the  rifle 
is  placed  in  your  hands.  If  you  kill,  nothing  matters.  You 
eat  your  sandwiches  and  smoke  your  pipe,  and  the  way 
home  seems  short  and  easy.  But  if  you  miss  !  Then 
indeed  your  luncheon  is  cheerless  ;  you  are  very  likely  let 
in  for  another  long  walk  to  try  for  another  stag,  and  every 
42 


Rgerton  Warburton 


step  on  the  long  downward  path  home  is  pain  and  grief. 
But  in  any  case  all  the  suffering  is  forgotten  in  a  very  short 
time,  and  these  are  the  very  aches  and  pains  that  make  the 
sport  worth  having. 

There  is  less  bodily  distress  about  the  ordinary  day's 
Fox-hunting  ;  in  these  days  of  motor-cars  there  is  hardly 
any.  But  no  one  is  a  real  Fox-hunter  unless  he  or  she  has 
been  really  hungry  and  tired,  and  in  that  condition  has 
been  obliged  to  ride,  or  perhaps  to  lead,  a  beaten  horse  home 
several  miles  in  the  dark  in  the  face  of  a  driving  storm. 
This  does  not  happen  every  day  ;  but  the  beauty  of  Fox- 
hunting as  a  mental  stimulant  is  that  hardly  any  day  passes 
without  your  having  the  chance,  if  you  choose  to  take  it,  to 
*  stiffen  the  sinews,'  to  *  summon  up  the  blood/  to  jump  the 
fences,  to  think  quickly,  and  to  take  decisions  at  full  gallop. 
These  are  the  privileges  of  any  member  of  the  field  who  is 
not  afraid  to  exercise  them,  and  form  a  great  deal  of  the 
charm  that  compels  people  to  follow  the  Hounds,  even 
though  they  do  not  take  any  active  part  in  the  actual  hunting 
of  the  animal. 

But  what  shall  we  say  of  the  man  who  hunts  the  Hounds, 
and  on  whose  sagacity  so  much  depends  ?  To  the  joy  of 
horsemanship  he  adds  the  exercise  of  his  craft.  One  of  the 
most  famous  amateur  huntsmen  of  the  last  century  was 
wont  to  declare  that  in  hunting  a  pack  of  Foxhounds  the 
blanks  were  so  many  and  the  prizes  so  few  that  he  really 
enjoyed  himself  on  comparatively  few  days  in  the  season  ; 
but  that  even  one  day  on  which  things  went  well  made  up 

43 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

for  any  amount  of  disappointments.  And  he  was  right. 
To  take  out  a  pack  of  Foxhounds,  every  one  of  whom  you 
have  bred  and  entered  yourself ;  to  know  that  they  will 
conform  to  the  movements  of  your  horse,  and  unless  they 
are  hunting  a  Fox  will  never  fail  to  come  to  your  horn  and 
voice,  and  will,  in  fact,  do  everything  that  you  ask  them 
to  do  without  any  whipping-in  ;  to  take  them  to  a  covert  and 
hear  them  open  on  their  Fox ;  to  see  them  fling  themselves 
of  their  own  accord  to  recover  the  scent  when  they  have 
overrun  it ;  to  help  them  out  of  one  or  two  difficulties ;  to 
see  them  run  into  the  animal  you  have  never  set  eyes  on 
until  you  see  him  dead  beat  in  the  same  field  with  the 
Hounds,  and  to  enjoy  all  this  from  the  back  of  a  thorough- 
bred horse,  are  things  that  make  life  worth  living. 

It  is  a  mild  morning  about  the  second  week  in  January. 
The  clouds  are  high.  The  long  bents  are  nodding  to  a 
gentle  southerly  breeze.  The  air  is  moist  and  the  distance 
clear,  favourable  for  both  sight  and  sound.  This  is  the  right 
atmosphere.  It  promotes  a  general  sense  of  well-being. 
The  razor  behaves  well  ;  the  horn  seems  to  sound  of  its 
own  accord  directly  it  is  pressed  to  the  lips  ;  leathers, 
saddle,  reins,  and  gloves  are  supple  and  adhesive,  so  differ- 
ent from  the  stiff  slippery  things  that  they  can  be  in  the 
winds  of  March  ;  and  on  these  warm,  humid  days  the  fox 
tires  before  the  hounds  more  quickly  than  in  cold,  dry 
weather. 

The  meet  is  in  the  wilder  and  less  fashionable  part  of 
the  country,  approached  by  roads  that  have  hitherto  escaped 

44 


.  Rgerton  Warburton 


the  attentions  of  the  Road  Board,  so  you  order  the  phaeton 
and  pair  instead  of  the  motor-car.  There  will  not  be  more 
than  seventy  people  out,  so  the  meet  will  be  more  like  a 
gathering  of  Fox-hunters  and  less  than  usual  like  a  motor 
exhibition  at  Olympia.  The  crunch  of  the  wheels,  the 
tread  of  the  horses,  and  the  rattle  of  the  pole-chains  give 
forth  the  sweet  music  of  long  ago.  You  are  to  meet  your 
hounds  at  the  cross-roads  two  miles  short  of  the  advertised 
place,  so  that  the  tumultuous  reception  they  always  insist 
on  giving  you  may  not  frighten  the  Fox  out  of  the  covert. 
Presently  you  see  the  small  party  of  second-horse  men  with 
the  horses  drawn  up  in  a  rank  on  the  grass  siding.  Jim 
has  wisely  withdrawn  the  hounds  round  the  corner,  so 
that  you  may  mount  in  peace  before  they  recognise  you. 
'  Mr.  Tiptop  wishes  you  to  ride  the  brown  horse  first, 
please,'  says  Tom,  giving  you  a  command  you  dare  not 
disobey.  The  Hounds  have  now  heard  your  voice,  and 
crowd  up  to  the  corner  to  get  a  glimpse  of  you,  only  just 
restrained  by  Jim.  The  next  moment  they  are  all  round 
and  about,  and  greeting  you  with  their  joyous  voices  and 
fondly  happy  faces.  And  a  rare  moment  it  is.  Some  one 
at  any  rate  is  unfeignedly  glad  to  see  you,  and  is  not  ashamed 
to  say  so.  '  Nineteen  and  a  half,  sir/  says  Jim.  Just  the 
right  number,  fifteen  couple  of  doghounds  and  four  and 
a  half  couple  of  bitches.  You  turn  your  horse's  head  down 
the  road,  and  the  Hounds  come  with  you,  having  suddenly 
become  quite  sedate  now  that  they  have  said  Good  morning. 
It  is  not  a  good  omen  for  scent  when  Hounds  are  frolicsome 

45 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

on  the  way  to  the  meet,  and  go  staring  through  the  gateways 
and  snuffing  into  the  hedges.  On  a  good  scenting  day 
each  Hound  usually  keeps  his  place  on  the  road,  and  goes 
solemnly  to  covert,  looking  neither  to  right  nor  left,  as  if 
he  were  saving  himself  for  a  hard  day. 

The  covert  you  are  going  to  draw  is  about  fifty  acres, 
carpeted  with  bracken  dotted  with  patches  of  blackthorn 
and  brambles,  and  sheltered  by  some  old  oaks  and  huge 
whitethorn  trees.  It  was  formerly  an  open  heath  on  either 
side  of  the  old  London  road,  now  overgrown  with  grass 
and  forming  a  middle  ride  for  the  covert.  The  acoustics 
are  so  good  this  morning  that  Jim  trots  off  from  the  meet  to 
take  post  at  the  lodge  on  the  new  London  road,  in  case 
the  *  old  customer  '  gets  wind  of  the  sport  and  steals  away 
too  soon.  The  Hounds  '  watch  him  off,'  as  the  stage  direc- 
tions say,  and  then  look  up  into  your  face,  wondering  why 
you  do  not  make  a  move.  At  last  the  stable-clock  strikes 
eleven.  They  seem  so  cocksure  of  finding  that  they  could 
be  trusted  to  leave  you  where  you  are  and  draw  the  covert 
themselves.  But  you  do  not  give  them  the  office  until  you 
have  crossed  the  park  and  are  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
the  covert.  The  ladies  and  gentlemen  take  the  carriage 
drive,  and  you  turn  down  the  trig  into  the  covert  to  join 
your  Hounds.  The  anticipation  of  hearing  the  first  Hound 
open  can  best  be  enjoyed  alone  with  no  one  to  bother  you 
about  politics  and  all  the  other  worries  you  have  come  out 
to  avoid. 

There  is  not  a  Hound  to  be  seen.    The  leading  Hounds 


.  Egerton  Warburton 


have  probably  gone  straight  to  the  Foxes'  kennel,  for  at 
that  moment  one  of  the  old  doghounds  proclaims  with  a 
deep  hoarse  roar  that  '  the  game  's  afoot/    This  is  quickly 
endorsed  by  the  lighter  tone  of  one  of  the  bitches,  and  in 
less  than  two  minutes  they  all  have  something  to  say.    He 
leads  them  straight  to  the  corner  where  Ted  the  second 
whipper-in  is  holloaing  '  Forrard  away  '  with  all  his  might 
and  main.    Another  Fox  !    The  boy  might  have  saved  his 
voice,  for  the  pack  swings  to  the  left  underneath  the  boun- 
dary fence,  glued  to  the  one  they  found.    You  hear  your 
field  holloaing  him  over  the  middle  ride,  and  he  sets  his 
head  for  Jim's   hiding-place   at   the   lodge.    The  Hounds 
scream  after  him  down  the  whole  length  of  the  covert, 
but  in  spite  of  this,  he  thinks  he  has  gained  enough  ground 
by  the  turn  in  the  covert  to  risk  the  open.    Not  only  that, 
the  Hounds,  the  horses'  hoofs,  and  the  horn  are  making  an 
ugly  demonstration  in  his  rear.    Jim  now  views  him  away 
over  the  new  London  road,  and  you  sound  the  long  blast 
more  as  an  accompaniment  to  the  chorus  than  as  a  summons 
to  the  open,  and  emerge  through  the  lodge  gates  just  as 
the  last  Hound  is  disappearing  through  the  fence  out  of 
the    road.    '  All    on,'    says    the   well-trained    servant,    and 
you  feel  the  good  brown  horse  already  balancing  himself  to 
jump  the  fence.    He  canters  up  the  grassy  slope,  with  his 
strong  hocks   underneath  him,   his  head   tucked   into   his 
chest,  and  his  perfect  mouth  playing  with  the  bit  as  he 
goes. 

The  country  is  undulating,  being  a  mixture  of  plough 

47 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

and  pasture  covering  a  succession  of  small  valleys,  each 
with  its  own  brook  that  in  some  cases  is  best  crossed  by 
the  bridge.  The  fences  are  not  too  well  cut  and  laid,  and 
the  rider  has  to  pick  his  places.  About  three  miles  to  the 
left  front  is  a  long,  straggling,  boggy  woodland  of  about 
three  hundred  acres,  usually  full  of  Foxes.  A  gate  or  two, 
sundry  pieces  of  low  timber,  and  an  easy  place  at  each 
bottom  keep  you  on  terms  with  your  Hounds  until  you 
breast  the  rising  ground  for  the  third  time.  On  the  top  of 
the  ridge  there  is  a  cart  track,  intersecting  the  line  of  the  Fox. 
On  this  track  stands  a  labourer,  apparently  the  only  in- 
habitant of  the  district.  What  is  he  doing  there  ?  He 
gesticulates  as  if  he  had  seen  the  Fox,  and  you  pray  that  the 
Fox  has  not  seen  him.  But  of  course  he  has,  and  has  turned 
short  to  the  right,  under  the  fence,  down  the  cart  track 
or  horse  road,  as  they  call  it  in  the  Midlands.  The  Hounds 
have  their  blood  up,  and  the  body  are  through  and  over 
the  fence  and  half-way  across  the  next  field  before  they 
own  their  mistake.  But  two  couple  make  a  dive  to  the  right 
under  the  hedge,  and  throw  their  tongues.  You  holloa 
to  the  leading  Hounds,  who  wheel  to  the  right  and  conform 
to  the  change  of  direction,  though  as  yet  they  have  no  scent. 
The  Fox  has  re-made  his  point  under  the  second  hedge  to 
the  front,  and,  as  the  body  of  the  pack  on  your  left  flank 
cross  his  line,  they  put  down  their  sterns  and  slip  up  the 
hedge  side  like  lightning,  stealing  an  unhandsome  march 
on  the  steady  two  couple  who  have  saved  the  situation. 
You  open  the  gate  and  let  these  faithful  ones  into  the  field > 


Jlfr.  Rgerton  Warburton 

where  they  race  away  from  you  to  join  the  head.  It  now 
looks  as  if  you  are  committed  to  the  woodland,  and  the 
practical  certainty  of  changing  Foxes.  A  gentleman  who 
lives  on  the  border  tells  you  that  the  neighbouring  pack 
were  all  over  it  only  two  days  ago,  so  for  once  they  may 
have  done  good  by  clearing  it  of  Foxes.  The  Hounds  hunt 
the  line  into  it  half-way  between  a  road  separating  the  wood- 
land from  an  open  heath  and  the  middle  ride.  Jim  takes 
the  road,  you  take  the  middle  ride.  The  scent  is  not  quite 
so  good.  There  is  still  a  steady  concentrated  cry,  but 
not  much  pace.  Your  heart  sinks  as  the  cry  gets  less  and 
less  and  eventually  '  peters  out.'  They  must  either  be  on 
the  line  of  a  Fox  who  has  heard  them  coming,  and  has 
therefore  been  gone  some  time,  or  else  their  own  Fox  has 
turned.  You  have  no  alternative  but  to  sit  and  suffer. 
After  two  minutes  of  devastating  anxiety  you  are  rewarded. 
First  one  and  then  another  speaks,  and  then  they  all 
chime  in  again  and  chatter  away  nearly  to  the  far  end  of  the 
wood,  but  without  going  fast  enough  to  press  him.  In  the 
road  you  join  Jim,  who  has  not  seen  him.  The  Hounds 
carry  the  line  into  the  road,  and  are  brought  to  their 
noses.  You  open  a  gate  out  of  the  road  and  let  the 
body  of  the  pack  through.  You  then  turn  your  horse 
to  the  left,  up  wind  towards  the  horses.  If  you  go 
down  wind  first,  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  will  all  follow 
you,  and  you  will  have  a  difficulty  in  getting  back  again 
if  you  do  not  hit  it  off.  The  up-wind  attempt  is  on 
this  occasion  of  no  avail,  and  you  turn  back  down  the 
D  49 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

road.  If  the  Fox  has  left  the  covert  somewhere  here  he 
may  be  yours.  If  not  .  .  .  ?  But  you  must  have  luck 
on  some  days,  and  to-day  is  one  of  them.  The  pack 
cluster  together  down  a  furrow  in  a  ploughed  field,  and 
throw  their  tongues  merrily  on  the  grass  beyond.  Is 
he  your  original  hunted  Fox  ?  This  is  one  of  the 
glorious  uncertainties  of  the  Chase.  Anyway  he  is  your 
hunted  Fox  now,  and  will  have  to  look  sharp  to  get  out 
of  the  way. 

The  country  becomes  less  provincial.  Grass  fields  and 
well-laid  fences.  The  next  shelter  the  Fox  may  be  heading 
for  is  a  kind  of  amphitheatre  or  corrie,  with  a  long,  narrow, 
hanging  covert  running  all  round  the  head  of  it,  and  a  small 
wood  on  each  shoulder.  This  is  his  point,  and  the  Hounds 
almost  race  there.  They  enter  the  long  hanging  covert : 
you  ride  along  the  lower  edge.  You  can  see  all  over  it 
right  up  to  the  top  fence.  To-day  does  not  seem  to  be  a 
good  scenting  day  in  covert,  or  else  the  Fox  is  sinking,  for 
now  they  can  hardly  own  him.  This  last  explanation  is 
the  true  one,  because  you  catch  sight  of  him  a  hundred  yards 
ahead  of  the  Hounds,  crawling  along  dead  beaten  just  inside 
the  top  fence.  The  Hounds  are  all  below  him,  and  cannot 
wind  him  or  see  him.  You  daren't  holloa,  for  if  you  did 
they  would  all  come  down  to  you  and  make  matters  worse. 
You  would  give  the  wide  world  for  Jim  or  Ted  to  be  level 
with  you  along  the  top  to  show  him  to  them.  But  Ted 
has  quite  rightly  lost  his  start  from  the  woodland  by  hang- 
ing back  and  is  not  here,  and  Jim  has  rather  rashly  got  too 

50 


J\fr.  Egerton  Warburton 

far  ahead  of  you.  There  is  only  one  thing  to  do.  You 
must  slip  quietly  back  along  the  bottom,  ride  round  and 
get  on  to  the  top,  and  so  try  to  put  them  on  to  him.  You 
canter  away  without  their  finding  out,  and  are  presently 
standing  on  the  top  where  you  last  saw  the  Fox.  They 
can't  own  the  scent.  He  may  have  turned  up  over  the  top 
across  a  greasy  wheat-field  ;  you  hold  them  across  it  as  a 
last  chance,  and  your  luck  still  serving  you,  you  put  him 
up  out  of  the  hedge  where  he  has  lain  down.  How  he 
must  hate  you  !  With  that  marvellous  power  of  reserve 
which  beaten  Foxes  seem  to  have,  he  blunders  across  the 
corner  of  the  field  back  into  the  covert ;  and  there  they 
catch  him. 

The  reputation  of  Tar  Wood  is  preserved  by  Mr.  War- 
burton's  description  of  this  remarkable  run  which  took 
place  in  1845,  during  the  mastership  of  Lord  Redesdale, 
who  had  for  his  huntsman  the  celebrated  Jem  Hills.  Ac- 
cording to  a  Mr.  Whippy  who  was  out,  it  was  a  fifteen-mile 
point,  and  twenty  miles  as  hounds  ran,  the  whole  thing 
being  accomplished  in  one  hour  and  forty- two  minutes. 
With  great  respect  we  doubt  whether  this  distance  could 
have  been  covered  in  the  time.  In  a  stiffly  enclosed 
country  it  certainly  could  not  have  been  done.  Even 
over  the  open  downs  and  the  stone  walls  of  North 
Oxfordshire  the  feat  is  hardly  within  the  bounds  of 
possibility.  But  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  Mr.  Warburton, 
who  has  immortalised  the  run  in  a  lay  that  conjures  up 
the  wildness  and  mystery  of  the  Chase,  and  makes  the 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

reader  wish  he  had  had  the  chance  of  seeing  this 
fine  run. 

Lord  Redesdale  was  one  of  the  best  friends  to  Fox- 
hunting that  ever  lived.  It  hurt  his  feelings  so  acutely  to 
see  any  covert  drawn  blank  that  he  is  said  to  have  instructed 
his  agent  to  try  to  buy  the  covert  in  question  for  him  in 
order  that  such  a  disaster  might  not  happen  again.  He 
became  master  of,  and  in  fact  founded,  the  Heythrop 
Hounds  when  the  sixth  Duke  of  Beaufort  relinquished  his 
Oxfordshire  country  and  withdrew  to  Badminton. 

Jem  Hills  made  his  mark  in  the  Midlands,  and  kept  his 
post  for  thirty- two  years.  He  is  said  to  have  introduced 
'  the  quick  forward  cast '  into  the  provinces,  as  practised 
by  Mr.  Osbaldeston  in  the  Shires  (sic).  Whatever  this 
may  mean,  neither  Jem  Hills  nor  Mr.  Osbaldeston,  nor 
any  one  else,  could  ever  turn  a  bad  scent  into  a  good  one  by 
forcing  the  pace.  It  is  possible  that  neither  the  hard  riders 
at  Melton  nor  the  Oxford  undergraduates  cared  very  much 
or  even  knew  whether  the  Hounds  had  a  line  or  not,  pro- 
vided there  was  plenty  of  galloping  and  jumping.  At  any 
rate  Jem  Hills  was  very  popular  at  the  University.  But 
the  Tar  Wood  run  was  evidently  an  orthodox  affair,  and 
ranks  as  one  of  the  classic  days  of  the  nineteenth 
century. 


"BRIGHTER    IN    BRITAIN    THE   CHARMS   OK   EACH    DAUGHTER,    NOR 
"DREADS   THE    BRIGHT   CHARMER   TO    FOLLOW    THE    VOX." 


.  Rgerton  Warburton 


SONG 

Stags  in  the  forest  lie,  hares  in  the  valley-o  ! 

Web-footed  otters  are  speared  in  the  lochs  ; 
Beasts  of  the  chase  that  are  not  worth  a  Tally-ho  ! 
All  are  surpass  'd  by  the  gorse-cover  fox  ! 
Fishing,  though  pleasant, 
I  sing  not  at  present, 
Nor  shooting  the  pheasant, 

Nor  fighting  of  cocks  ; 
Song  shall  declare  a  way 
How  to  drive  care  away, 
Pain  and  despair  away, 
Hunting  the  fox  ! 

Bulls  in  gay  Seville  are  led  forth  to  slaughter,  nor 

Dames,  in  high  rapture,  the  spectacle  shocks  ; 
Brighter  in  Britain  the  charms  of  each  daughter,  nor 
Dreads  the  bright  charmer  to  follow  the  fox. 
Spain  may  delight  in 
A  sport  so  exciting  ; 
While  'stead  of  bullfighting 

We  fatten  the  ox  ; 
Song  shall  declare  a  way 
How  to  drive  care  away, 
Pain  and  despair  away, 
Hunting  the  fox  ! 

England's  green  pastures  are  grazed  in  security, 
Thanks  to  the  Saxon  who  cared  for  our  flocks  ! 

He  who,  reserving  the  sport  for  futurity, 
Sweeping  our  wolves  away  left  us  the  fox. 

53 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

When  joviality 
Chafes  formality, 
When  hospitality 

Cellars  unlocks  ; 
Song  shall  declare  a  way 
How  to  drive  care  away, 
Pain  and  despair  away, 

Hunting  the  fox. 

TAR  WOOD 

(A  RUN  WITH   THE   HEYTHROP) 

He  waited  not — he  was  not  found — 

No  warning  note  from  eager  hound, 
But  echo  of  the  distant  horn, 
From  outskirts  of  the  cover  borne, 
Where  Jack  the  Whip  in  ambush  lay, 
Proclaim'd  that  he  was  gone  away. 

Away  !  ere  yet  that  blast  was  blown, 
The  fox  had  o'er  the  meadow  flown  ; 
Away  !  away  !  his  flight  he  took, 
Straight  pointing  for  the  Windrush  brook  ! 

The  Miller,  when  he  heard  the  pack, 
Stood  tiptoe  on  his  loaded  sack, 
He  view'd  the  fox  across  the  flat, 
And,  needless  signal,  waved  his  hat ; 
He  saw  him  clear  with  easy  stride 
The  stream  by  which  the  mill  was  plied  ; 
Like  phantom  fox  he  seem'd  to  fly, 
With  speed  unearthly  flitting  by. 

54 


'•STOOD  TII-TOE  ox  HIS  LOADED  SACK. 


J\fr.  Rgerton  Warburton 

The  road  that  leads  to  Witney  town 
He  travell'd  neither  up  nor  down  ; 
But  straight  away,  like  arrow  sped 
From  cloth  yard  bow,  he  shot  a-head . 
Now  Cokethorpe  on  his  left  he  past, 
Now  Duckington  behind  him  cast, 
Now  by  Bampton,  now  by  Lew, 
Now  by  Clanfield,  on  he  flew  ; 
At  Grafton  now  his  course  inclined, 
And  Kelmcote  now  is  left  behind  ! 

Where  waters  of  the  Isis  lave 
The  meadows  with  their  classic  wave, 
O'er  those  wide  meadows  speeding  on, 
He  near'd  the  bridgeway  of  St.  John  ; 
He  paused  a  moment  on  the  bank, 
His  footsteps  in  the  ripple  sank, 
He  felt  how  cold,  he  saw  how  strong 
The  rapid  river  roll'd  along  ; 
Then  turn'd  away,  as  if  to  say, 
'  All  those  who  like  to  cross  it  may.' 

The  Huntsman,  though  he  view'd  him  back, 
View'd  him  too  late  to  turn  the  pack, 
Which  o'er  the  tainted  meadow  prest, 
And  reach'd  the  river  all  abreast ; 
In  with  one  plunge,  one  billowy  splash, 
In — altogether — in  they  dash, 
Together  stem  the  wintry  tide, 
Then  shake  themselves  on  t'  other  side  ! 
'  Hark,  hollo  back  !  '  that  loud  halloo 
Then  eager,  and  more  eager  grew, 

55 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

Till  every  hound,  recrossing  o'er, 
Stoop 'd  forward  to  the  scent  once  more  ; 
Nor  further  aid,  throughout  the  day, 
From  Huntsman  or  from  Whip  had  they. 

Away  !  away  !  uncheck'd  in  pace, 
O'er  grass  and  fallow  swept  the  chase  ; 
To  hounds,  to  horses,  or  to  men, 
No  child's  play  was  the  struggle  then  ; 
A  trespasser  on  Milward's  ground, 
He  climb 'd  the  pale  that  fenced  it  round  ; 
Then  close  by  Little  Hemel  sped, 
To  Fairford  pointing  straight  a-head, 
Though  now,  the  pack  approaching  nigh, 
He  heard  his  death-note  in  the  cry  ; 
They  view'd  him,  and  now  seem'd  their  race 
The  very  lightning  of  the  chase  ! 
The  fox  had  reached  the  Southropp  Lane, 
He  strode  to  cross  it,  but  in  vain, 
The  pack  roll'd  o'er  him  in  his  stride, 
And  onward  struggling  still — he  died. 

This  gallant  fox,  in  Tar  Wood  found, 
Had  cross'd  full  twenty  miles  of  ground  ; 
Had  fought  in  cover,  left  or  right, 
No  shelter  to  conceal  his  flight ; 
But  nigh  two  hours  the  open  kept, 
As  stout  a  fox  as  ever  stept ! 
That  morning,  in  the  saddle  set, 
A  hundred  men  at  Tar  Wood  met ; 
The  eager  steeds  which  they  bestrode 
Paced,  to  and  fro,  the  Witney  road, 

56 


J\Ir.  Rgerton  Warburton 

For  hard  as  iron  shoe  that  trod 

Its  surface,  the  unyielding  sod  ; 

They  champ 'd  the  bit  and  twitch'd  the  rein, 

And  paw'd  the  frozen  earth  in  vain  ; 

Impatient  with  fleet  foot  to  scour 

The  vale,  each  minute  seem'd  an  hour, 

Till  mid-day  fun  had  made  the  ground 

Fit  treading  for  the  foot  of  hound  ; 

Still  Rumour  says  of  that  array 

Scarce  ten  lived  fairly  through  the  day. 

Ah  !  how  shall  I  in  song  declare 
The  riders  who  were  foremost  there  ? 
A  fit  excuse  how  shall  I  find 
For  every  rider  left  behind  ? 

Though  Cokethorpe  seem  one  open  plain, 
JTis  slash'd  and  sluiced  with  many  a  drain, 
And  he  who  clears  those  ditches  wide 
Must  needs  a  goodly  steed  bestride. 
From  Bampton  to  the  river's  bounds 
The  race  was  run  o'er  pasture  grounds  ; 
Yet  many  a  horse  of  blood  and  bone 
Was  heard  to  cross  it  with  a  groan  ; 
For  blackthorns  stiff  the  fields  divide 
With  watery  ditch  on  either  side. 
By  Lechlade's  village  fences  rise 
Of  every  sort  and  every  size, 
And  frequent  there  the  grievous  fall 
O'er  slippery  bank  and  crumbling  wall ; 
Some  planted  deep  in  cornfield  stand, 
A  fix'd  incumbrance  on  the  land  ! 

57 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

While  others  prove  o'er  post  and  rail 
The  merits  of  the  sliding  scale. 

Ah  !  much  it  grieves  the  Muse  to  tell 
At  Clanfield  how  Valentia  fell ; 
He  went,  they  say,  like  one  bewitch'd, 
Till  headlong  from  the  saddle  pitch 'd  ; 
There,  reckless  of  the  pain,  he  sigh'd 
To  think  he  might  not  onward  ride  ; 
Though  fallen  from  his  pride  of  place, 
His  heart  was  following  still  the  chase  ; 
He  bade  his  many  friends  forbear 
The  proffer'd  aid,  nor  tarry  there  ; 
*  Oh  !  heed  me  not,  but  ride  away  ! 
The  Tar  Wood  fox  must  die  to-day  !  ' 

Nor  fell  Valentia  there  alone, 
There  too  in  mid  career  was  thrown 
The  Huntsman — in  the  breastplate  swung 
His  heels — his  body  earthward  hung  ; 
With  many  a  tug  at  neck  and  mane, 
Struggling  he  reach 'd  his  feet  again  ; 
Once  more  upon  the  back  of  Spangle, 
His  head  and  heels  at  proper  angle 
(Poor-  Spangle  in  a  piteous  plight), 
He  look'd  around  him,  bolt  upright, 
Nor  near  nor  far  could  succour  see, — 
Where  can  the  faithless  Juliet  be  ? 
He  would  have  given  half  his  wage 
Just  then  to  see  her  on  the  stage  ; 
The  pack  those  meads  by  Isis  bound 
Had  reach 'd  ere  Jem  his  Juliet  found  ; 

58 


J\fr.  Egerton  Warburton 

Well  thence  with  such  a  prompter's  aid 
Till  Reynard's  death  her  part  she  play'd. 

Then  Isaac  from  the  chase  withdrew 
(A  horse  is  Isaac,  not  a  Jew), 
Outstretch'd  his  legs,  and  shook  his  back 
Right  glad  to  be  relieved  of  Jack  ; 
And  Jack,  right  glad  his  back  to  quit, 
Gives  Beatrice  a  benefit. 

Moisture  and  mud  the  *  Fungus  '  suit, 
In  boggy  ditch  he,  taking  root, 
For  minutes  ten  or  thereabout, 
Stood  planted,  till  they  pluck'd  him  out. 
By  application  of  spur  rowel 
Charles  rubb'd  him  dry  without  a  towel. 

Say,  as  the  pack  by  Kelmcote  sped, 
Say  who  those  horsemen  cloth'd  in  red  ? 
Spectators  of  the  chase  below, 
Themselves  no  sign  of  movement  show  ; 
No  wonder — they  were  all  aghast 
To  see  the  pace  at  which  it  past ; 
The  *  White  Horse  Vale  ' — well  known  to  Fame 
The  pack  to  which  it  gives  a  name  ; 
And  there  they  stood  as  if  spellbound, 
Their  morning  fox  as  yet  unfound  ; 
Borne  from  that  wood,  their  Huntsman's  cheer 
Drew  many  a  Tar  Wood  straggler  near, 
And  he  who  felt  the  pace  too  hot 
There  gladly  sought  a  resting  spot ; 
Himself  of  that  White  Horse  availing, 
When  conscious  that  his  own  was  failing. 

59 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

Thus  ships  when  they  no  more  can  bide 
The  fury  of  the  wind  and  tide, 
If  chance  some  tranquil  port  they  spy, 
Where  vessels  safely  shelter'd  lie, 
There  seek  a  refuge  from  the  gale, 
Cast  anchor,  and  let  down  the  sail. 

The  speed  of  horse,  the  pluck  of  man, 
They  needed  both,  who  led  the  van  ; 
This  Holmes  can  tell,  who  through  the  day 
Was  ever  foremost  in  the  fray  ; 
And  Holloway,  with  best  intent, 
Still  shivering  timber  as  he  went ; 
And  Williams,  clinging  to  the  pack 
As  if  the  League  were  at  his  back  ; 
And  Tollit,  ready  still  to  sell 
The  Nag  that  carried  him  so  well. 

A  pretty  sight  at  first  to  see 
Young  Pretyman  on  Modesty  ! 
But  Pretyman  went  on  so  fast, 
That  Modesty  took  fright  at  last ; 
So  bent  was  she  to  shun  disgrace 
That  in  the  brook  she  hid  her  face  ; 
So  bashful,  that  to  drag  her  out 
They  fetch'd  a  team  and  tackle  stout. 

When  younger  men  of  lighter  weight 
Some  tale  of  future  sport  relate, 
Let  Whippy  show  the  brush  he  won, 
And  tell  them  of  the  Tar  Wood  run  ; 
While  Rival's  portrait,  on  the  wall, 
Shall  oft  to  memory  recall 
60 


"THEY  FETCH  D  A  TEAM  AND  TACKLE  STOUT. 


.  Egerton  Warburton 

The  gallant  fox,  the  burning  scent, 

The  leaps  they  leapt,  the  pace  they  went ; 

How  Whimsey  led  the  pack  at  first, 

When  Reynard  from  the  woodside  burst ; 

How  Pamela,  a  puppy  hound, 

First  seized  him,  struggling  on  the  ground  ; 

How  Prudence  shunn'd  the  taint  of  hare, 

Taught  young  in  life  to  have  a  care  ; 

How  Alderman ,  a  foxhound  staunch, 

Work'd  well  upon  an  empty  paunch  ; 

How  Squires  were,  following  thee,  upset, 

Right  honourable  Baronet ; 

How,  as  the  pack  by  Lechlade  flew, 

Where  close  and  thick  the  fences  grew, 

Three  bitches  led  the  tuneful  throng, 

All  worthy  of  a  place  in  song  ; 

Old  Fairplay  ne'er  at  skirting  caught, 

And  Pensive  speeding  quick  as  thought ; 

While  Handsome  proved  the  adage  true, 

They  handsome  are  that  handsome  do  ! 

Then  long  may  courteous  Redesdale  live  ! 
And  oft  his  pack  such  gallops  give  ! 
Should  fox  again  so  stoutly  run, 
May  I  be  there  and  see  the  fun  ! 

1845. 


61 


CHAPTER    IV 

MAJOR  WHYTE  MELVILLE 

DURING  fifty-seven  years  of  life,  beginning  in  1821, 
Major  George  John  Whyte  Melville  saw  more  of 
hunting,  soldiering,  and  fashion  than  most  people. 
He  entered  the  Coldstream  Guards  in  1839,  and  served 
with  the  Turkish  Cavalry  in  the  Crimean  War.  He  knew 
every  one  in  the  British  Isles  who  was  worth  knowing, 
and  his  novels  were  read  by  a  considerable  public  as  well 
as  by  a  large  circle  of  friends.  He  wrote  verses  as  well 
as  novels.  Some  of  his  contemporaries  have  gone  so  far 
as  to  call  him  the  Poet  Laureate  of  the  hunting-field.  Yet 
*  Drink,  Puppy,  Drink,'  perhaps  the  best  known  of  his  hunt- 
ing-songs, leaves  something  to  be  desired.  Indeed,  he  con- 
fessed to  a  friend  who  was  sitting  next  to  him  at  a  dinner- 
party that  he  would  have  sacrificed  all  his  other  writings 
if  only  he  could  have  written  '  John  Peel/  which  had  just 
been  sung.  Although  he  did  not  write  *  John  Peel/  he 
wrote  the  words  to  Tosti's  *  Good-bye/  which,  at  other 
functions  than  hunt-dinners,  is  quite  as  hackneyed  as  the 
favourite  old  hunting-song. 

The  two  chapters  that  are  chosen  as  specimens  of  his 
work  are  both  admirable  monographs,  the  one  on  a  run 
with  the  Pytchley  Hounds  and  the  other  on  a  day's  horse- 
62 


^Major  Whyte  {Melville 

coping.  His  account  of  a  run  i«  characteristic  of  him,  in 
that  he  always  seems  to  make  riding  to  Hounds  a  much 
more  desperate  and  blood-curdling  affair  than  it  really  is. 
He  deals  in  sweat  and  dirt  and  tired  horses  and  crashing 
falls,  and  gigantic  fences,  and  bottomless  brooks. 

His  '  Riding  Recollections '  is  an  excellent  text-book,  and 
wears  well.  Yet,  after  reading  it,  one  wonders  how  one 
ever  got  over  a  fence  at  all.  This  is  the  kind  of  thing. 
In  his  chapter  on  *  Valour  '  he  tells  that  a  lady  *  who  had 
not  quite  succeeded  in  clearing  a  high  post-and-rail  with 
a  boggy  ditch  on  the  landing  side  was  down  and  under 
the  horse.  The  animal's  whole  weight  rested  on  her  legs, 
so  as  to  keep  her  in  such  a  position  that  her  head  lay  between 
its  fore  and  hind  feet,  where  the  least  attempt  at  a  struggle, 
hemmed  in  by  those  four  shining  shoes,  must  have  dashed 
her  brains  out.'  It  is  true  that  he  is  paying  a  chivalrous 
tribute  to  the  lady's  courage  in  this  very  trying  position, 
but  the  mere  description  of  the  thing  is  enough  to  prevent 
one  ever  riding  at  a  post-and-rail  again.  All  the  same, 
'  Riding  Recollections,'  as  well  as  his  other  works,  is  full  of 
good  things.  And  the  charm  of  the  author  is  that  he  must 
have  loved  the  horses  and  the  Hounds  and  the  men  and  the 
women  who  followed  them  very  dearly  to  have  been  able 
to  write  of  them  as  he  did.  He  is  always  so  gentle  ;  always 
the  *  sahib.'  He  speaks  of  the  Chase  and  all  that  belongs 
to  it  with  the  respect  and  the  affection  that  entitles  him  to 
a  place  among  the  authors  who  have  addressed  themselves 
to  the  Sport  of  our  Ancestors. 

63 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

The  chapter  selected  from  *  Holmby  House  '  is  thought  by 
some  people  to  be  a  classic  in  the  literature  of  the  Chase, 
and  is  often  mentioned  when  the  question  is  asked,  *  Which 
is  the  best  imaginary  description  of  a  run  ?  '  We  should 
ourselves  certainly  give  the  blue  ribbon  to  Beckford,  whose 
account  will  be  dealt  with  presently.  But  the  reader  can 
now  set  them  side  by  side,  and  choose  for  himself. 

*  Market  Harborough '  can  be  read  again  with  greater 
pleasure  than  any  of  Major  Whyte  Melville's  works.  It 
wears  remarkably  well.  The  central  figure  is  Mr.  Sawyer, 
who,  having  been  rusticated  from  Oxford,  settled  down 
on  his  estate  in  some  provincial  country  with  enough  money 
to  keep  a  few  hunters  and  to  buy  another  to  take  down  to 
the  Shires  on  his  celebrated  visit  to  Market  Harborough. 
Mr.  Sawyer  thought  and  talked  of  nothing  but  hunting. 
In  the  summer  he  went  to  Tattersalls  every  Sunday  after- 
noon. He  was  typical  of  that  country  gentleman  who  in 
those  days  never  did  a  stroke  of  work,  was  animated  by 
no  sort  of  public  spirit,  read  nothing  but  '  Bell's  Life?  '  The 
Field?  and  the  '  Sporting  Magazine?  and  was  apparently 
expected  by  the  rest  of  the  world  to  do  nothing  but  amuse 
himself.  He  had  been  living  up  to  this  standard  of  conduct 
by  hunting  from  home,  but  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
might  get  m@re  amusement  out  of  life  by  going  to  Market 
Harborough.  So  Major  Whyte  Melville  describes  how  he 
walked  over  to  find  out  if  Mr.  Job  Sloper,  the  local  horse- 
dealer,  had  a  horse  for  sale  that  would  carry  him  over 
Leicestershire  and  Northamptonshire,  and  how  he  bought 


Major  Whyte  ^Melville 

the  roan  horse.  The  thing  could  not  be  better  done.  The 
author  brings  out  the  whole  humour  of  horse  -  dealing 
without  missing  a  single  point.  The  flattery  ;  the  wonder 
how  such  a  nice  horse  came  to  be  in  the  Sloper  establish- 
ment unless  he  had  some  serious  *  crab  ' ;  the  trial  ;  the 
luncheon  ;  the  deal ;  the  second  look  at  the  horse  by  the 
new  owner  ;  then  the  misgiving  at  finding  him  smaller 
than  he  thought  when  he  got  him  home  next  day,  are  all 
set  down  by  the  hand  of  a  master. 

There  is  indeed  nothing  more  delightful  than  going  to 
look  for  the  horse  you  want  and  being  quite  sure  that  you 
have  found  him  from  the  very  first  moment  you  are  intro- 
duced to  him  in  the  box.  In  choosing  a  horse  there  is  no 
truer  guide  than  love  at  first  sight ;  though,  if  we  may 
criticise  Mr.  Sawyer,  it  is  wise  to  ask  the  price  of  the  horse 
before  you  get  on  his  back.  Some  people  can  no  more 
conceal  their  admiration  for  a  horse  than  they  can  conceal 
their  admiration  for  a  lady.  If  he  is  as  good  a  ride  as  your 
instinct  tells  you  he  is,  you  may  return  so  flushed  with  the 
pride  of  what  you  think  is  masterly  equestrianism  that  the 
dealer,  if  he  is  half  sharp,  and  somefof  them  are  even  more 
than  half  sharp,  will  put  £50  on  to  his  price  unless  you 
have  asked  it  beforehand.  But  perhaps  Mr.  Sawyer  could 
command  his  own  face. 

Those  who  read  this  chapter  may  think  it  worth  while 

to  read  the  whole  book  again.     If  they  do,  they  will  surely 

be  rewarded.    There  is  an  incident  in  it  which  has  some 

bearing  on  the  ethics  of  selling  horses  to  one's  friends  that 

E  65 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

is  worthy  of  attention.  Mr.  Sawyer  had  been  stuck  by 
some  one  with  a  flat-catching  brute  whom  he  called  Mara- 
thon— underbred,  slow,  sulky,  and  a  dangerous,  slovenly 
fencer.  Mr.  Sawyer  first  of  all  allowed  his  friend  the 
Honble.  Crasher,  who  had  been  kind  to  him,  and  who  was 
a  gentleman  to  his  finger-tips,  to  believe  that  Marathon 
had  actually  beaten  the  Honble.  Crasher's  crack  mare 
Chance  in  a  trial,  when  he  knew  that  his  rascal  of  a  groom 
had  really  won  the  trial  on  the  galloping  hack  Jack-a-Dandy, 
concealing  the  fraud  by  means  of  the  early  morning  dark- 
ness and  a  rug.  Mr.  Sawyer  then  rode  the  real  Marathon 
out  hunting,  and  was  rather  avoiding  the  Hounds,  not  wish- 
ing to  expose  the  worthless  animal,  when  they  crossed  his 
front,  and  he  nicked  in  and  contrived  by  great  good  luck 
to  force  the  vulgar  brute  through  a  bullfinch  and  cut  down 
Mr.  Crasher  himself  and  some  more  of  the  first  flight.  The 
Honble.  Crasher,  with  the  news  of  the  false  trial  in  his 
mind,  offered  Mr.  Sawyer  £250  for  Marathon  then  and 
there.  Ought  Mr.  Sawyer  to  have  accepted  the  offer, 
knowing  that  it  was  based  upon  the  fraud  perpetrated 
by  his  groom  quite  as  much  as  on  the  accident  that  man- 
oeuvred Marathon  through  the  bullfinch  ?  Anyway  he  did 
accept  it,  and  the  Honble.  Crasher  thought  Mr.  Sawyer 
what  is  now  called  quite  *  a  card  '  for  having  done  so.  In 
fact,  he  actually  complimented  Mr.  Sawyer  on  the  trans- 
action, though  indeed  he  never  knew  about  the  trial.  That 
is  the  ugly  part  of  it.  The  explanation  of  Crasher's  atti- 
tude is  to  be  found  in  his  unfailing  good  nature,  and  his 
66 


{Major  Whyte  ^Melville 

desire  to  save  himself  trouble  and  to  have  no  unpleasantness. 
But  Mr.  Sawyer  was  punished  all  the  same.  Did  the 
Honble.  Crasher  invent  the  punishment  ?  Anyhow,  he 
persuaded  Mr.  Sawyer  to  sit  behind  Marathon,  who  had 
never  been  in  harness  before,  and  a  chestnut  horse  who 
was  a  bad  starter,  in  a  phaeton  to  go  out  to  dinner  with 
Parson  Dove.  Crasher  was  a  most  casual  coachman  with  no 
nerves,  and  contrived,  either  by  accident  or  design,  to  give  his 
friend  a  really  bad  time,  and  on  the  way  home  drove  clean 
through  a  shut  gate  and  smashed  the  whole  turn-out  to  pieces. 
The  affair  of  Marathon  is  interesting  because  it  opens 
up  the  whole  question  of  the  ethics  of  horse-dealing.  Did 
our  ancestors  deliberately  '  do  '  their  friends  in  this  shame- 
less manner  ?  Of  course  literature  is  not  sworn  testimony. 
But  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  Major  Whyte  Melville 
would  himself  have  suppressed  the  trial.  Mr.  Sawyer  was 
supposed  to  know  how  to  '  play  the  game/  and  yet  he  was 
undoubtedly  guilty  of  what  we  should  call  sharp  practice. 
To-day  the  buyer  is  almost  too  well  protected.  If  he  buys 
a  horse  at  auction  described  as  a  '  good  hunter/  he  can  send 
the  animal  back  unless  he  can  do  pretty  nearly  everything 
except  talk.  If  he  buys  from  a  dealer  he  can  try  the  horse 
over  made  fences,  or  over  the  natural  country,  or  in  many 
cases  get  a  day's  hunting  on  him  for  nothing,  and  then 
send  any  vet.  he  likes  to  examine  him.  Perhaps  real  ras- 
cality is  reserved,  as  in  '  Market  Harbor  ough^  for  private 
dealings  between  friends.  Maybe  those  people  are  right 
who  will  buy  a  horse  from  any  one  except  a  close  friend. 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

Major  Whyte  Melville's  heroes  and|heroines  were  usually 
like  himself,  without  fear  and  without  reproach.  There 
runs  through  all  his  books  a  certain  spirit  of  chivalry  and 
affection,  as  it  appeared  to  him  to  exist,  and  did  exist,  in 
spite  of  Dundreary  whiskers  and  crinolines.  It  is  certain 
that  the  possession  of  these  qualities,  together  with  a  de- 
lightful sense  of  humour,  caused  him  to  be  well  and  truly 
loved  by  many  friends  who  were  shocked  at  his  death  from 
a  fall  on  the  flat  when  out  hunting  near  Tetbury.  It  was 
on  this  occasion  that  the  late  Lord  Rosslyn  wrote  the  sonnet 
which  follows.  The  news  that  a  dear  friend  had  broken 
his  neck  out  hunting  would  no  doubt  be  a  shock.  But  the 
age  in  which  we  now  live  has  become  more  familiar  with 
sudden  death,  and  would  not  be  *  appalled  '  or  *  petrified 
with  pain  '  in  the  presence  of  a  swift  and  merciful  end. 
For  all  that,  Lord  Rosslyn,  himself  a  gifted  writer  and  an 
outstanding  figure  in  the  world  of  sport  and  fashion,  must 
be  allowed  the  licence  of  the  poets.  This  is  what  he 
wrote  : — 

IN  MEMORIAM 

The  engineer  by  his  own  petard  slain, 
The  eagle  pierced  by  shaft  from  his  own  wing, 
Are  plaintive  fancies,  such  as  poets  sing, 
And  touch  the  heart  but  coldly  through  the  brain  ; 
But  thou,  dear  George,  in  thine  own  sport  thus  ta'en, 
In  all  the  prime  of  manhood,  and  the  swing 
Of  gallant  gallop,  struck  stone-dead — the  thing 
Appals,  and  petrifies  the  mind  with  pain. 
68 


JWajor  Whyte  ^Melville 

Bright,  brave,  and  tender,  Poesy's  pet  child, 
Romance  and  History's  lore  alike  were  thine  ; 
Thy  wit  ne'er  wounded,  yet  the  contest  won, 
For  at  thy  jests  the  gravest  dullard  smiled  ; 
Last  scion  of  an  ancient  Scottish  line, 
Whose  '  old  folks  '  live  to  mourn  their  only  son 

Dec.  6,  1878. 


1  YOUR  HAND-WRITING,  SIR  ' 

*  Mornin',  sir/  says  Mr.  Sloper,  scenting  a  customer  as  he 
accosts  his  guest.  *  Oh,  it 's  you,  is  it,  Mr.  Sawyer  ?  Won't 
ye  step  in  and  set  down  after  your  walk  ?  Take  a  glass  of 
mild  ale  and  a  crust  of  bread  and  cheese,  or  a  drop  of  sherry 
or  anythink  ?  ' 

'  No  hunting  to-day,  Job,'  answers  the  visitor,  declining 
the  refreshment ;  *  so  I  just  toddled  over  to  see  how  you  're 
getting  on,  and  have  a  look  round  the  stables  ;  no  harm  in 
looking,  you  know.' 

Mr.  Sloper 's  face  assumes  an  expression  of  profound 
mystery.  *  I  'm  glad  you  come  over  to-day,  sir,'  he  says, 
in  a  tone  of  confidential  frankness,  '  of  all  days  in  the  year. 
I/ve  a  'orse  here,  as  I  should  like  to  ast  your  opinion  about 
— a  gent  like  you  *  as  knows  what  a  'unter  really  is.  And 
so  you  should,  Mr.  Sawyer,  for  there  's  no  man  alive  takes 
greater  liberties  with  'em  when  they  can  go  and  do  it.  And 

1  Words  in  italics  are  in  italics  in  original. 

69 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

I  Ve  got  one  in  that  box,  as  I  think,  just  is  more  than 
curious/ 

'  Would  he  carry  me  ?  '  asks  Mr.  Sawyer,  with  well- 
affected  indifference,  as  if  he  had  not  come  over  expressly 
to  find  one  that  would.  *  Not  that  I  want  a  horse,  you  know  ; 
but  if  I  saw  one  I  liked  very  much,  and  you  didn't  price  him 
too  high,  why  I  might  be  induced  to  buy  against  next  season, 
perhaps.' 

Job  took  his  hands  out  of  his  coat-pockets,  and  spread 
them  abroad,  as  it  were  to  dry.  The  action  denoted  extreme 
purity  and  candour. 

1  No ;  I  don't  think  as  he  ought  to  carry  you,  sir,'  was 
the  unexpected  reply.  *  Now,  I  ain't  a-going  to  tell  you 
a  lie,  Mr.  Sawyer.  This  horse  didn't  ought  to  be  ridden, 
not  the  way  you  take  and  ride  him,  Mr.  Sawyer  ;  leastways 
not  over  such  a  blind  heart-breaking  country  as  this  here. 
He  's  too  good,  he  is,  for  that  kind  of  work  ;  he  ought  to  be 
in  Leicestershire,  he  ought ;  the  Harbor ough  country,  that 's 
the  country  for  him.  He  's  too  fast  for  us,  and  that  's  the 
truth.  Only,  to  be  sure,  we  have  a  vast  of  plough  here- 
about, and  I  never  see  such  a  sticker  through  dirt.  It 
makes  no  odds  to  him,  pasture  or  plough,  and  the  sweetest 
hack  ever  I  clapped  eyes  on  besides.  However,  you  shall 
judge  for  yourself,  Mr.  Sawyer.  I  won't  ask  you  to  believe 
me.  You  've  a  quicker  eye  to  a  horse  than  I  have,  by  a 
long  chalk,  and  I  'd  sooner  have  your  opinion  than  my  own. 
I  would  now,  and  that 's  the  truth  !  ' 

Our  purchaser  began  to  think  he  might  possibly  have 
70 


{Major  Whyte  ^Melville 

hit  upon  the  animal  at  last.  Often  as  he  had  been  at  the 
game,  and  often  as  he  had  been  disappointed,  he  was  still 
sanguine  enough  to  believe  he  might  draw  the  prize-ticket 
in  the  lottery  at  any  time.  As  I  imagine  every  man  who 
pulls  on  his  boots  to  go  out  hunting  has  a  sort  of  vague 
hope  that  to-day  may  be  his  day  of  triumph  with  the  hounds, 
so  the  oldest  and  wariest  of  us  cannot  go  into  a  dealer's  yard 
without  a  sort  of  half-conscious  idea  that  there  must  be  a 
trump  card  somewhere  in  the  pack,  and  it  may  be  our  luck 
to  hold  it  as  well  as  another's. 

But  Sloper,  like  the  rest  of  his  trade,  was  not  going  to 
show  his  game  first.  It  seems  to  be  a  maxim  with  all  sales- 
men to  prove  their  customers  with  inferior  articles  before 
they  come  to  the  real  thing.  Mr.  Sawyer  had  to  walk 
through  a  four-stall  stable,  and  inspect,  preparatory  to 
declining,  a  mealy  bay  cob,  a  lame  grey,  a  broken- winded 
chestnut,  and  an  enormous  brown  animal,  very  tall,  very 
narrow,  very  ugly,  with  extremely  upright  forelegs  and 
shoulders  to  match.  The  latter  his  owner  affirmed  to  be 
*  an  extraordinary  shaped  un?  as  no  doubt  he  was.  A  little 
playful  badinage  on  the  merits  of  this  last  enlivened  the 
visit. 

1  What  will  you  take  for  the  brown,  Sloper,  if  I  buy  him 
at  so  much  the  foot  ?  '  said  the  customer,  as  they  emerged 
into  the  fresh  air. 

*  Say  ten  pound  a  foot,  sir  !  '  answered  Job,  with  the 
utmost  gravity,  *  and  ten  over,  because  he  always  has  afoot  to 
spare.  Come  now,  Mr.  Sawyer,  I  can  afford  to  let  a  good 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

customer  like  you  have  that  horse  for  fefty.  Fefty  guineas, 
or  even  pounds,  sir,  to  you.  I  got  him  in  a  bad  debt,  you  see, 
sir ; — it 's  Bible  truth  I  'm  telling  ye  ; — and  he  only  stood 
me  in  forty-seven  pounds  ten,  and  a  sov.  I  gave  the  man 
as  brought  him  over.  He  's  not  everybody's  horse,  Mr. 
Sawyer,  that  isn't ;  but  I  think  he  '11  carry  you  remarkably 
well.' 

1  I  don't  think  I  '11  ever  give  him  a  chance,'  was  the 
rejoinder.  *  Come,  Job,  we  're  burning  daylight  ;  let 's 
go  and  have  a  look  at  the  crack.' 

One  individual  had  been  listening  to  the  above  conver- 
sation with  thrilling  interest.  This  was  no  less  a  personage 
than  Barney,  Mr.  Sloper's  head  groom,  general  factotum, 
and  rough-rider  in  ordinary — an  official  whose  business  it  was 
to  ride  anything  at  anything,  for  anybody  who  asked  him. 
He  was  a  little  old  man,  with  one  eye,  a  red  handkerchief, 
and  the  general  appearance  of  a  post-boy  on  half-pay  ;  a 
sober  fellow,  too,  and  as  brave  as  King  Richard  ;  yet  had 
he  expressed  himself  strongly  about  this  said  brown  horse, 
the  previous  evening,  to  the  maid-of-all-work.  *  He  's  the 
wussest  we  've  had  yet,'  was  his  fiat.  '  It 's  nateral  for 
'em  to  fall  ;  but  when  he  falls,  he  's  all  over  a  chap  till  he  's 
crumpled  him.'  So  his  heroic  heart  beat  more  freely  when 
they  adjourned  to  the  neighbouring  box. 

Mr.  Sloper  threw  the  door  open  with  an  air.  It  must 
be  confessed  he  seldom  had  one  that  would  bear,  without 
preparation,  a  minute  inspection  from  the  eye  of  a  sports- 
man ;  but  he  knew  this  was  a  sound  one,  and  made  the  most 
72 


"HAS    HK    /••.•ISIf/O.Y   ENOl'C.H,    THINK    YE,    SIR?" 


Major  Whyte  ^Melville 

of  it.  Clothed  and  hooded,  littered  to  the  hocks,  and 
sheeted  to  the  tail,  there  was  yet  something  about  his  general 
appearance  that  fascinated  Mr.  Sawyer  at  once.  Job  saw 
the  spell  was  working,  and  abstained  from  disturbing  it. 
As  far  as  could  be  seen,  the  animal  was  a  long,  low,  well- 
bred-looking  roan,  with  short  flat  legs,  large  clean  hocks, 
and  swelling  muscular  thighs.  His  supple  skin  threw  off 
a  bloom,  as  if  he  was  in  first-rate  condition  ;  and  when, 
laying  his  ears  back  and  biting  the  manger,  he  lifted  a  fore- 
leg, as  it  were,  to  expostulate  with  his  visitors,  the  hoof  was 
round,  open,  and  well-developed,  as  blue,  and  to  all  appear- 
ance as  hard,  as  a  flint. 

*  Has  he  fashion  enough,  think  ye,  sir  ?  '  asked  Job,  at 
length,    breaking    the    silence.    *  Strip    him,    Barney,'    he 
added,  taking  the  straw  from  his  mouth. 

The  roan  winced,  and  stamped,  and  whisked  his  tail, 
and  set  his  back  up  during  the  process  ;  but  when  it  was 
concluded,  Mr.  Sawyer  could  not  but  confess  to  himself,  that 
if  he  was  only  as  good  as  he  looked,  he  would  do. 

*  Feel    his    legs,    Mr.    Sawyer !  '    observed    the    dealer, 
turning  away  to  conceal  the  triumph  that  would  ooze  out. 
1  There  's  some  legs — there  's  some  hocks  and  thighs  !    Talk 
of  loins,  and  look  where  his  tail  's  set  on.     I  never  saw  such 
manners  in  the  hunting-field.    Six-year-old — not  a  speck 
or  blemish  ;  bold  as  a  bull,  and  gentle  as  a  lady  ;  he  can  go 
as  fast  as  you  can  clap  your  hands,  and  stay  till  the  middle 
of  the  week  after  next — jump  a  town,  too,  and  never  turn 
his  head  from  the  place  you  put  him  at.    As  handy  as  a 

73 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

fiddle,  as  neat  as  a  pink,  and  worth  all  the  money  to  carry 
in  your  eye  when  you  go  out  to  buy  hunters.  But  what  's 
the  use  of  talking  about  it  to  a  judge  like  you  ?  Lay  your 
leg  over  him — only  just  lay  your  leg  over  him,  Mr.  Sawyer. 
I  don't  want  you  to  buy  him  !  but  get  on  him  and  feel  his 
action,  just  as  a  favour  to  me.' 

Our  friend  had  made  up  his  mind  he  would  do  so  from 
the  first.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  appearance  of  the 
animal  ;  so  good  was  it,  that  he  had  but  two  misgivings — some 
rank  unsoundness,  to  account  for  its  being  there,  or  so  high 
a  price  as  to  be  beyond  his  means  ;  for  Mr.  Sawyer  was 
too  fond  of  the  sport  to  give  a  sum  that  he  could  not  replace 
for  so  perishable  an  article  as  a  hunter. 

He  was  no  mean  equestrian,  our  friend,  and  quite  at 
home  on  a  strange  horse.  As  he  drew  the  curb -rein  gently 
through  his  fingers,  the  roan  dropped  his  long,  lean  head, 
and  champed  the  bit  playfully,  tossing  a  speck  of  froth  back 
on  his  rider's  boots. 

'  You  Ve  got  a  mouth,  at  any  rate,'  quoth  Mr.  Sawyer, 
and  trotted  him  gently  down  the  hard  road,  the  animal 
stepping  freely  and  gaily  under  him,  full  of  life  and  spirits. 
The  customer  liked  his  mount,  and  couldn't  help  showing 
it.  '  May  I  lark  him  ?  '  said  he,  pulling  up  after  a  short 
canter  to  and  fro  on  the  turf  by  the  wayside,  during 
which  Job  Sloper  had  been  exercising  his  mental  arith- 
metic in  what  we  may  term  a  sum  of  problematical 
addition. 

'  Take  him  into  the  close,  sir,'  was  the  generous  reply  ; 
74 


{Major  Whyte  ^Melville 

*  put  him  at  anything  you  like.  If  you  can  get  him  into 
one  of  these  fences,  I  '11  give  him  to  you  !  ' 

So  Mr.  Sawyer  sat  down  to  jump  a  low  hedge  and  ditch, 
then  stood  up,  and  caught  hold  of  the  roan's  head,  and 
sent  him  a  cracker  through  the  adjoining  plough,  and  across 
a  larger  fence  into  a  pasture,  and  back  again  over  a  fair 
flight  of  rails,  and  lost  his  flat  shooting-hat,  and  rucked  his 
plaid  trousers  up  to  his  knees  ;  and  Sloper  marked  his 
kindling  eye  and  glowing  cheek,  and  knew  that  he  had 
landed  him. 

'  Walk  him  about  for  ten  minutes  before  you  do  him 
over/  said  that  worthy  to  Barney,  as  Mr.  Sawyer  dis- 
mounted and  the  latter  brought  him  his  hat.  '  And  now, 
sir/  added  the  hospitable  dealer,  '  you  can't  go  away  with- 
out tasting  my  cheese — the  same  you  liked  last  time,  you 
know.  Walk  in,  sir  ;  this  way,  and  mind  the  step,  if  you 
please.'  So  speaking,  Mr.  Sloper  ushered  his  guest  into 
a  neat  little  parlour  with  a  strong  odour  of  preserved  tobacco- 
smoke,  where  a  clean  cloth  set  off  a  nice  luncheon  of  bread 
and  cheese,  flanked  by  a  foaming  jug  of  strong  ale  and  a 
decanter  of  oily-brown  sherry. 

And  herein  the  dealer  showed  his  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  and  his  discrimination  in  the  different  character- 
istics of  the  species.  Had  his  guest  been  some  generous 
scion  of  the  aristocracy,  with  more  money  than  nerves,  he 
would  have  primed  him  first,  and  put  him  up  to  ride  after- 
wards. But  he  knew  his  man.  He  was  well  aware  that 
Mr.  Sawyer  required  no  stimulant  to  make  him  jump,  but 

75 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

a  strong  one  to  induce  him  to  part  with  his  money  ;  so  he 
proposed  the  luncheon  after  he  was  satisfied  that  his  customer 
was  pleased  with  his  mount. 

Neither  of  them  touched  on  business  during  the  meal, 
the  conversation  consisting  chiefly  of  the  runs  that  had 
lately  taken  place  in  the  Old  Country,  with  many  an  inferred 
compliment  to  the  good  riding  of  the  possible  purchaser. 
Then  Mr.  Sawyer  produced  the  Laranagas  and  offered  one 
to  Job,  who  bit  it,  and  wet  it,  and  smoked  it,  as  men  do 
who  are  more  used  to  clay  pipes,  and  then  they  went  back 
to  the  stable  to  see  the  roan  done  up. 

The  gallop  and  the  ale  were  working  in  Mr.  Sawyer's 
brain,  but  he  didn't  see  his  way  into  the  roan  at  a  hundred  ; 
so  he  obstinately  held  his  tongue.  The  dealer  was  obliged 
to  break  the  ice. 

*  I  'd  take  it  very  friendly  of  you,  sir,  if  you  'd  give  me 
your  honest  opinion  of  that  horse/  said  he,  waving  the 
Laranaga  towards  the  animal.  '  I  fancy  he  's  too  good  for 
our  country  ;  and  I  Ve  a  brother-in-law  down  in  Rutland 
as  wants  to  have  him  very  bad.  He  's  just  the  cut,  so  he 
says,  for  these  Melton  gents ;  and  he  's  a  good  judge,  is  my 
brother-in-law,  and  a  pretty  rider  to  boot.  He  'd  give  me 
any  price  too  ;  but  then,  you  know,  sir,  askin'  your  pardon, 
it  isn't  always  ready  money  between  relations ;  and  that 
cuts  the  other  way  again,  as  a  man  may  say.  What  do  you 
think,  Mr.  Sawyer  ?  ' 

'  I  '11  find  out  what  he  wants  for  him,  at  any  rate,'  thought 
the  customer.  *  What 's  his  figure  ? J  was  the  abrupt  rejoinder. 


{Major  Whyte  ^Melville 

Mr.  Sloper  hesitated.  '  A  hundred  and '  eighty ',  he 

was  going  to  say  ;  but  seeing  his  customer's  eye  resting  on 
the  roan's  back  ribs — a  point  in  which  the  horse  was  some- 
what deficient — he  dropped  at  once  to  seventy,  and  re- 
gretted it  the  next  moment  when  he  caught  the  expression 
of  the  listener's  face. 

'  It  isn't  even  money,'  answered  Mr.  Sawyer,  without, 
however,  making  the  same  sort  of  face  he  had  done  several 
times  before,  when  he  had  refused  to  give  double  the  sum 
at  which  he  had  eventually  purchased.  *  I  should  say  you 
might  get  a  hundred  and  twenty  for  him  down  there,  if 
you  'd  luck.  But  it  's  a  great  risk — a  great  risk — and  a  long 
distance  ;  and  perhaps  have  him  sent  back  to  you  in  the 
spring.  If  I  wanted  a  horse,  I  'd  give  you  a  hundred  for 
him,  though  he  isn't  exactly  my  sort.  A  hundred  ! — I  '11 
tell  you  what,  Sloper,  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  won't  chance  it. 
I  '11  give  you  a  hundred — guineas — come  !  Money  down  and 
no  questions  asked.' 

'  I  can't  warrant  him  sound,'  answered  Mr.  Sloper  ; 
'  and  I  'd  rather  you  had  him  than  anybody.  But  it 's 
childish  talking  of  a  hundred  guineas  and  that  horse  on 
the  same  afternoon.  However,  I  thank  you  kindly  all  the 
same,  Mr.  Sawyer.  Barney  !  shut  the  box  up.  Come  in, 
sir,  and  have  one  glass  of  sherry  before  you  start.  The 
evenings  get  chill  at  this  time  of  year,  and  that  's  old  sherry, 
and  won't  hurt  you  no  more  than  milk.  He  is  a  nice  horse, 
Mr.  Sawyer,  I  think — a  very  nice  horse,  and  I  'm  glad 
you  're  pleased  with  him.' 

77 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

So  they  returned  into  the  little  parlour,  and  stirred  up 
the  fire,  and  finished  the  bottle  of  old  sherry  ;  nor  is  it 
necessary  to  remark  that  with  the  concluding  glass  of  that 
generous  fluid  the  roan  became  the  property  of  John 
Standish  Sawyer,  under  the  following  somewhat  compli- 
cated agreement : — That  he  was  to  give  an  immediate  cheque 
for  a  hundred  and  forty  pounds,  and  ten  pounds  at  the 
end  of  the  season  ;  which  latter  donation  was  to  be  in- 
creased to  twenty  if  he  should  sell  him  for  anything  over 
two  hundred — a  contingency  which  the  dealer  was  pleased 
to  observe  amounted  to  what  he  called  '  a  moral.' 

The  new  owner  went  to  look  at  him  once  more  in  the 
stable,  and  thought  him  the  nicest  horse  he  ever  saw  in  his 
life.  The  walk  home,  too,  was  delightful,  till  the  sherry 
had  evaporated,  when  it  became  rather  tedious  ;  and  at 
dinner-time  Mr.  Sawyer  was  naturally  less  hungry  than 
thirsty.  All  the  evening,  however,  he  congratulated  him- 
self on  having  done  a  good  day's  work.  All  night,  too,  he 
dreamed  of  the  roan  ;  and  on  waking  resolved  to  call  him 
'  Hotspur/ 

When  the  horse  came  home  next  day  he  certainly  looked 
rather  smaller  than  his  new  owner  had  fancied.  Old  Isaac, 
too,  growled  out  his  untoward  opinion  that  he  *  looked  a 
sort  as  would  work  very  light*  But  then  Isaac  always 
grumbled — it  was  the  old  groom's  way  of  enjoying  himself. 


•  TAI.I.V-HO  !'  SHOUTS  OUR  FRIEND  JACK. 


{Major  Whyte  Melville 

EXTRACT   FROM  'HOLMBY  HOUSE' 

We  can  fancy  ourselves  astride  of  a  good  horse  by  the 
side  of  Jack  Woodcock  as  he  views  the  fox  away  from  the 
lower  corner  of  the  gorse.  What  a  long,  wiry,  tough-looking 
animal  it  is,  with  a  white  tag  to  that  handsome  brush,  which, 
as  he  steals  across  the  neighbouring  pasture,  he  whisks  in 
derision,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  Gallop  away,  my  fine  fellows  ! 
according  to  your  wont ;  hurry  and  bustle,  and  jump  and 
splutter  !  The  harder  you  ride  the  better  for  me  !  ' 

'  Tally-ho  !  '  shouts  our  friend  Jack,  erect  in  his  stirrups. 
'  Twang  '  goes  Charles  Payne's  horn  from  the  middle  of 
the  gorse.  Already  the  owner  of  the  covert  is  coming  best 
pace  round  the  corner.  Trust  him  not  to  lose  his  start, 
and  to  make  good  use  of  it  when  he  has  got  it.  In  twos  and 
threes  the  hounds  are  pouring  through  the  boundary  fence  ; 
ten  or  twelve  couple  are  settling  to  the  scent ;  the  rest,  with 
ears  erect,  are  flying  to  the  cry.  Now  they  stoop  together 
with  collective  energy,  and  drive  along  over  the  grass  in  all 
the  mute  ecstasy  of  pace.  A  burst  such  as  this  is  pastime 
for  the  gods  ! 

It  sobers  our  imaginary  steed,  our  pen-and-ink  Pegasus  ; 
he  drops  quietly  to  his  bridle,  and  a  turn  in  our  favour 
enables  us  to  pull  him  into  a  trot,  and  to  look  about  us. 
Seven  or  eight  men  are  in  the  same  field  with  the  hounds  ; 
half  a  dozen  stiff  fences  and  a  couple  of  miles  of  grass  have 
shaken  off  the  larger  portion  of  the  field,  but  they  are  even 
now  coming  through  a  bridle-gate  not  far  distant  in  the  rear, 

79 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

and  should  a  check  unfortunately  occur  at  this  critical 
moment,  they  will  be  up  in  plenty  of  time  to  do  lots  of 
mischief  still.  But  no  ;  the  pack  is  streaming  on.  *  For- 
ward/ says  Charles  Payne,  cramming  his  horn  into  its 
case,  and  gathering  his  horse  for  an  '  oxer.'  '  Forward/ 
adds  Mr.  Cust,  cracking  the  far-rail,  as  he  swings  over  the 
obstacle  in  his  stride.  *  Line  !  '  shouts  a  Meltonian  at  an 
unfortunate  aspirant,  whose  horse  is  swerving  to  the  thickest 
place  in  the  fence.  '  Serve  him  right/  remarks  the  Mel- 
tonian to  himself,  landing  safely  in  the  next  field,  while  the 
aspirant  rolls  headlong  to  the  earth.  Jack  Woodcock,  with 
an  amused  smile,  slips  quietly  by  to  the  front.  Three  or 
four  other  men,  one  in  a  black  coat,  enter  the  field  at  differ- 
ent points  ;  that  quiet  gentleman  over,  not  through  the 
gate.  A  loose  horse  with  streaming  reins  gallops  wildly 
after  the  chase  ;  and  the  hounds,  with  a  burning  scent,  are 
pointing  straight  for  Naseby  Field. 

And  now  every  man  hugs  his  trusty  hunter  by  the  head, 
and  spares  his  energies  as  much  as  possible  ere  he  encounters 
the  yielding  soil  of  that  classic  ground.  Many  a  tired 
horse  has  Naseby  Field  to  answer  for,  from  the  thundering 
battle-steeds  of  the  Cavaliers,  led  by  hot  Prince  Rupert,  to 
the  panting  thoroughbreds  of  Jersey  and  Alix,  and  Cooke 
and  Knightley,  and  the  heroes  of  fifty  years  ago,  who  urged 
the  mimic  war  over  that  eventful  plain.  Ay,  down  to  our 
times  when,  although  the  plough  has  passed  over  its  marshy 
surface,  and  draining  and  high-farming  have  given  secure 
foothold  to  man  and  beast,  many  a  sobbing  steed  and  de- 
80 


•COME  rp,  HORSE!'  MUTTERS  CHARLES  IN  REPLY. 


Jlfajor  Whyte  ^Melville 

jected  rider  can  still  bear  witness  to  the  exhaustive  pro- 
perties of  that  black  adhesive  soil,  many  a  dirty  coat  and 
stationary  hunter  rues  the  noble  impulse  that  would  follow 
the  fleeting  pack  over  such  a  country  as  this  after  a  three- 
days'  rain. 

Some  of  them  begin  to  hope  he  may  have  entered  the 
thick  holding  covert  of  Naseby  Thorns,  and  that  the 
conclusion  of  so  rapid  a  burst  may  save  their  own 
and  their  horses'  credit.  But  a  countryman  on  the 
opposite  hill  is  holloaing  as  if  his  throat  must  crack.  Our 
fox  is  forward  still  ;  he  has  not  a  notion  of  entering  the 
covert,  warmed  as  he  is  by  the  merry  pace  of  the  last 
mile  or  so. 

*  No  occasion  to  lift  them,  Charles/  observes  Mr.  Villiers, 
as  he  lends  an  ear  to  the  far-off  countryman,  and  points 
to  the  streaming  pack  wheeling  with  every  turn  of  the  scent, 
like  pigeons  on  the  wing. 

*  Couldn't  get  near   enough  if  there  was.    Come  up, 
horse  !  '  mutters  Charles  in  reply,  as  he  bores  through  a 
black  close-cut  hedge,  sinking  up  to  the  hocks  on  the  taking 
off  side.    There  is  no  chance  of  a  check  now  ;   and  as  the 
professed  Jester  of  the  Hunt  remarks,  *  If  he  don't  stop 
at  Tally-ho,  he  may  go  on  to  Texas  !  ' 

The  field,  that  enterprising  body  whose  self-depend- 
ence is  so  touchingly  illustrated  at  every  sign-post,  are 
already  somewhat  hopelessly  behindhand  and  considerably 
puzzled  by  the  coincidence  of  two  safe  practicable  lanes, 
leading  equally  in  the  direction  of  the  line  of  chase.  It 
F  81 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

divides  accordingly  into  two  hurrying  columns,  neither  of 
which  will  in  all  probability  see  a  hound  again  to-day. 

So  *  on  we  go  again/  leaving  Tally-ho  Gorse  to  the  left, 
and  up  the  hill  for  Hazelbeech,  threading  the  fine  old  trees 
that  tower  upon  its  heights,  and  pointing  ever  onwards 
for  the  wide  grassy  vale  of  Cottesbrooke,  spread  out  like 
a  panorama  before  us,  shut  in  by  wooded  hills,  dotted  with 
fine  old  standard  trees,  and  smiling  beauteous  and  peaceful 
in  the  chequered  light  of  a  February  sun. 

Thank  Heaven  !  a  check  at  last.  Pegasus  was  begin- 
ning to  want  it  sadly.  He  struck  that  top-rail  uncommonly 
hard,  and  has  dropped  his  hind-legs  in  the  last  two  conse- 
cutive ditches.  There  are  still  some  half-dozen  men  with 
the  hounds,  but  their  horses  look  as  if  they  had  had  nearly 
enough,  and  we  are  inclined  to  believe  one  or  two  of  the 
riders  are  beginning  to  wish  it  was  over.  The  country  for 
miles  back  is  dotted  with  equestrians  of  every  rank  and 
every  hue.  A  child  on  a  pony  has  turned,  not  headed ',  the 
fox.  Charles  Payne  opines  he  cannot  have  entered  the  gorse 
with  so  *  warm  a  jacket/  as  he  phrases  it ;  so  he  holds  his 
hounds  towards  the  plantations  on  his  right.  Fairplay 
whisks  her  stern  about  her  sides,  and  drops  a  note  or  two 
to  her  comrades  as  they  gather  to  the  line. 

'  Ye-geote,  old  lady  ! '  says  Charles,  in  the  inexplicable 
language  of  a  huntsman. 

'  She  's  always  right,  that  old  bitch/  remarks  Mr.  Villiers, 
who  has  just  turned   Olympian's  head  for  an  instant  to 
the  wind. 
82 


3\fajor  Whyte  ^Melville 

'  Twang  '  goes  the  horn  once  more,  and  away  score  the 
hounds  through  '  Pursar's  Hills/  as  if  they  were  fresh  out 
of  the  kennel,  and  over  the  wide  grassy  pastures  below, 
and  up  the  opposite  rise,  with  untiring  energy,  leaving  the 
foremost  horseman  toiling  a  field  and  a  half  behind  them, 
till  a  pause  and  momentary  hover  in  the  Welford  Road 
enables  Pegasus  and  his  comrades  to  reach  them  once 
more. 

It  is  labour  and  sorrow  now,  yet  is  it  a  sweet  and  joyous 
pain.  Still,  we  can  hardly  call  that  enjoyment  which  we 
wish  was  over  ;  and  most  devoutly  now  do  we  all  hope 
that  we  may  soon  kill  this  gallant  fox,  before  he  kills 
our  gallant  horses.  The  best  blood  of  Newmarket  is  but 
mortal,  after  all  ;  and  Pegasus  is  by  this  time  going 
most  unreservedly  on  his  own  shoulders  and  his  rider's 
hands. 

Down  the  hill  between  Creaton  and  Holywell  we  make 
a  tolerable  fight ;  but  though  Olympian  clears  the  brook 
at  the  bottom,  the  rest  of  us  flounder  through.  We  have  no 
false  pride  now,  and  do  not  any  of  us  turn  up  our  noses  at 
gates  or  gaps,  or  other  friendly  egress.  Everything  is  com- 
parative. A  country  doctor  on  his  fresh  hack,  meeting  us 
at  this  period,  opines  we  are  going  quite  slow,  but  we  know 
better ;  so  does  Pegasus,  so  does  old  Fairplay,  so  does 
the  fox. 

He  is  not  travelling  so  straight  now.  Up  and  down 
yonder  hedgerow  the  pack  turn  like  harriers,  and  we 
think  we  must  be  very  near  him.  But  see  !  the  crows 

83 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

are  stooping  yonder  over  a  low  black  object  in  the 
distance.  'Tis  the  hunted  fox,  pointing  straight  for  the 
coverts  of  Althorpe.  He  will  never  reach  them,  for  the 
hounds  are  now  close  upon  his  track,  and  they  run  into 
him  in  the  large  grass  field  by  Holmby  House  under  the 
old  oak  tree. 


84 


CHAPTER    V 

MR.  BROMLEY-DAVENPORT 

MR.  WILLIAM  BROMLEY-DAVENPORT  of  Capes- 
thorne  in  the  county  of  Cheshire  was  born  in  1821, 
was  educated  at  Eton  and  Christ  Church,  and  was 
a  Tory,  a  Member  of  Parliament,  a  Colonel  of  Yeomanry,  an 
accomplished  sportsman,  and  a  witty  writer  and  speaker. 
There  was  no  branch  of  field  sports  in  which  he  was  not 
thoroughly  proficient,  and  he  could  write  about  them  like 
few  other  people.  Just  before  he  died  in  1884  he  wrote 
the  last  lines  of  a  volume  entitled  '  Sport,'  illustrated 
by  General  Hope-Crealocke,  which  is  doubtless  familiar 
to  many  who  read  these  pages.  It  contains  four  papers  : 
upon  Fox-hunting,  salmon-fishing,  deer-stalking,  and  covert- 
shooting  respectively ;  each  one  of  them  a  charming  little 
descriptive  essay  on  its  own  subject,  with  much  good  advice 
which  every  young  sportsman  will  do  well  to  read  and 
follow. 

Mr.  Bromley-Davenport  was,  however,  something  more 
than  a  sporting  writer.  He  not  only  thoroughly  understood 
the  values  of  field  sports,  but  he  also  had  a  shrewd  apprecia- 
tion of  the  signs  and  portents  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived. 
What  Disraeli  called  '  the  miserable  philosophy  of  the  day 
which  ascribes  everything  to  "  the  spirit  of  the  age  "  ' 

85 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

caused  him  much  uneasiness.  He  had  no  use  for  the 
schemer  and  the  doctrinaire.  He  saw  that  some  of  these 
gentlemen  were  taking  themselves  too  seriously,  and  feared 
*  lest  in  grasping  after  the  shadow  of  national  perfection 
we  only  attain  the  reality  of  a  saturnalia  of  prigs  —  an 
apotheosis  of  claptrap/  What  would  he  have  had  to  say 
about  the  League  of  Nations  ?  This  point  of  view  of  life 
is  expressed  in  the  pages  of  *  Sport*  particularly  in  the  paper 
on  Fox-hunting.  This  paper  is  indeed  a  kind  of  prose  epi- 
logue to '  The  Dream  of  the  Old  Meltonian '  and  to  *  Lowesby 
Hall.'  Fox-hunting,  he  says,  is  the  national  sport,  because 
it  is  a  manifestation  of  '  the  manly  predilection  inherent  in 
our  Anglo-Saxon  nature  for  a  sport  into  which  the  element 
of  danger  conspicuously  enters/  and  because  '  all  classes 
enjoy  it.'  To  the  accomplished  rider  to  Hounds  it  is  an 
anodyne  for  all  kinds  of  trouble.  *  There  is  a  burning 
scent,  a  good  fox,  a  good  country  ;  he  is  on  a  good  horse, 
and  has  got  a  good  start ;  then  for  the  next  twenty  or  thirty 
minutes  (Elysium  on  earth  can  scarcely  ever  last  longer) 
he  absorbs  as  much  happiness  into  his  mental  and  physical 
organisation  as  human  nature  is  capable  of  containing  at 
one  time  .  .  .  that  very  morning,  perchance,  he  was  full 
of  care,  worried  by  letters  from  lawyers  and  stewards,  an- 
nouncements of  farms  thrown  upon  his  hands  ;  and,  if  an 
M.P.,  of  a  certain  contest  at  the  coming  election.  Where 
are  all  these  now  ?  Ask  of  the  winds  !  They  are  vanished. 
His  whole  system  is  steeped  in  delight ;  there  is  not  space 
in  it  for  the  absorption  of  another  sensation.  Talk  of 
86 


Jlfr.  Bromley-Davenport 

opium  ?  Of  hashish  ?  They  cannot  supply  such  a  volup- 
tuous entrancement  as  a  run  like  this.' 

A  run  like  this  is  almost  the  same  run,  with  names  of 
places  left  out,  that  he  describes  in  *  The  Dream  of  the 
Old  Meltonian.'  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  this  is  the 
best  imaginary  run  which  the  Fox-hunting  verse  of  the  last 
century  has  given  to  us.  Had  it  been  set  to  music  and  to 
an  air  that  would  have  tickled  the  ear,  it  might  well  have 
been  the  most  popular  hunting-song  of  the  day.  Read  it 
aloud,  and  you  will  find  that  the  lilt  of  the  metre  is  like  the 
gallop  of  a  horse.  A  sporting  recitation  at  a  convivial 
gathering  is  apt  to  be  dangerous,  and  conjures  up  in  the 
memory  such  masterpieces  as  '  Kissing  Cup's  Race.'  But 
we  have  heard  Mr.  Bromley-Davenport's  stanzas  roll  trip- 
pingly off  the  tongue  and  hold  spell-bound  the  attention  of 
such  a  critical  audience  as  a  Bullingdon  dinner-party,  who 
would  surely  have  pelted  with  bread,  or  whatever  came 
handy,  any  one  who  tried  to  charm  them  with  c  Kissing 
Cup's  Race.' 

*  Lowesby  Hall '  was  pronounced  by  Major  Whyte 
Melville  to  be  the  best  parody  in  the  English  language. 
If  parodies  are  to  be  allowed  at  all,  this  must  surely  be  one 
of  them.  It  is  free  from  offence,  and  does  not  detract 
from  the  dignity  of  the  original.  It  is  not  mere  parody 
for  the  sake  of  parody  ;  rather  does  Mr.  Bromley-Daven- 
port make  use  of  Lord  Tennyson's  vehicle  for  the  sake  of 
telling  his  own  story  and  uttering  his  own  prophecy,  and 
in  the  doing  of  it  occasionally  yields  to  the  temptation  to 

87 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

sharpen  his  brains  on  his  model,  and  indulges  for  the 
moment  in  sheer  irreverent  parody.  *  Lowesby  Hall  ' 
sparkles  with  wit,  is  studded  with  epigram,  and  contains 
some  remarkable  prophecies.  Lord  Tennyson's  own  pro- 
phecy about  airships  is  startling  : — 

1  For  I  dipt  into  the  future,  far  as  human  eye  could  see, 
Saw  the  Vision  of  the  world,  and  all  the  wonder  that  would  be  ; 

Saw  the  heavens  fill  with  commerce,  argosies  of  magic  sails, 
Pilots  of  the  purple  twilight,  dropping  down  with  costly  bales  ; 

Heard  the  heavens  fill  with  shouting,  and  there  rain'd  a  ghastly  dew 
From  the  nations*  airy  navies  grappling  in  the  central  blue.' 

Now  look  at  Mr.  Bromley-Davenport's  picture  of  the 
condition  of  England  when  the  Whigs  and  the  prigs  whom 
he  hated  so  cordially  had  completed  their  handiwork  ;  and 
see  that  as  a  prophet  he  is  not  far  behind  his  model,  even 
though  Fox-hunting  is  not  yet  abolished  by  an  Order  in 
Council.  Such  objection  to  field  sports,  particularly  to  Fox- 
hunting, as  there  may  have  been  was  probably  political  in 
part  and  in  part  humanitarian.  To-day  it  has  no  platform. 
In  truth,  it  never  had  a  very  strong  one.  No  humanitarian 
who  is  squeamish  about  field  sports  can  expect  a  hearing 
until  he  has  set  forth  his  views  on  the  condition  of  such 
countries  as  Russia  and  Ireland.  There  may  have  been 
at  one  time  a  sort  of  abstract  political  animosity  to  the 
whole  idea  of  the  Chase  on  the  part  of  the  heresy  hunter 
with  a  mind  tinctured  by  class  feeling.  Fox-hunting  might 
appear  to  such  a  one  to  be  a  rudiment  of  a  haughty  and 


J\fr.  ^Bromley-Davenport 

rapacious  feudalism.  But  although  red  coats,  and  hunting- 
horns,  and  liveried  servants,  and  meets  of  the  Foxhounds 
within  the  drawbridge  of  the  ducal  castle  or  the  courtyard 
of  the  baronial  hall  give  some  colour  to  this  picture,  the 
Sport  of  our  Ancestors  is  in  fact  and  in  practice  entirely 
national.  If  it  were  based  upon  exclusiveness  it  would 
have  deservedly  perished  long  ago.  Those  who  are  re- 
sponsible for  the  management  of  Fox-hunting  cannot  do 
better  than  bear  in  mind  this  great  truth.  A  substantial 
subscription  is  necessary  nowadays  to  pay  the  M.F.H.  a 
sufficient  salary  to  enable  him  to  carry  on.  But  a  high 
tariff,  difficult  as  it  is  to  avoid,  carries  with  it  the  seed  of 
danger  if  it  be  too  rigidly  enforced.  And  the  danger  is 
that  Fox-hunting  may  tend  to  become  the  exclusive  pleasure 
of  the  well-to-do.  Now  there  is  one  class  of  man  whom 
on  every  count  it  is  most  undesirable  to  exclude  from  the 
hunting-field.  And  that  is  the  professional  or  business 
man  from  the  country  town,  be  he  solicitor,  wine-merchant, 
doctor,  or  even  parson.  All  these  men  in  the  exercise  of 
their  various  callings  see  among  their  clients  many  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men  and  women,  and,  if  they  are  Fox-hunters, 
carry  with  them  on  their  daily  round  the  atmosphere  of 
the  sport  into  sundry  and  divers  places,  and  indirectly 
contribute  enormously  to  its  popularity.  Some  of  them 
may  even  hunt  only  once  a  fortnight,  or  perhaps  less,  but 
it  will  be  a  bad  day  for  Fox-hunting  if  ever  they  and  their 
kind  have  to  give  it  up  altogether  under  pressure  from 
the  tax-gatherer  of  the  hunt.  There  is  no  exclusiveness 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

so  odious  or  so  vulgar  as  the  exclusiveness  which  is  avowedly 
based  upon  nothing  except  a  cash  consideration.  The 
practice  of  capping  may  possibly  be  defended  on  grounds 
of  convenience  or  utility.  But  the  spectacle  of  gentlemen 
dropping  half-crowns  into  a  hat  looks  more  like  the 
preliminaries  to  a  sweepstake  on  board  a  liner  than  the 
beginning  of  a  day's  hunting.  The  thing  is  sordid  and 
out  of  the  picture,  besides  being  a  great  nuisance.  Part 
of  the  delight  of  Fox-hunting  is  to  steep  the  senses  in 
forgetfulness  of  everything  to  do  with  finance.  Nobody 
understood  all  this  better  than  Mr.  Bromley-Davenport. 
He  was  never  tired  of  pointing  out  the  equality  between 
all  the  classes  that  exists  in  the  hunting-field,  and  has  rightly 
diagnosed  this  equality  as  being  the  principal  guarantee 
for  the  continuance  of  the  Sport  of  our  Ancestors.  But  once 
the  Fox  had  broken  covert,  and  the  Hounds  had  settled  to  him, 
he  himself  had  very  few  if  any  equals  in  the  knack  of  going 
the  shortest  way.  The  rest  of  the  field  he  speaks  of  as 
*  the  blundering  mass  '  from  whom  in  his  dream  he  extri- 
cates himself  by  jumping  in  and  out  of  the  turnpike  road  ; 
and  although  no  class  privilege  hindered  any  one  from 
being  first  over  the  fences,  his  own  dash  and  dexterity 
secured  to  the  author  the  position  of  leader.  He  is  not 
ashamed  to  exult  in  his  pride  of  place,  and  to  admit  the 
satisfaction  of  cutting  down  all  his  friends  save  the  three 
who  got  over  the  Whissendine  without  a  fall.  Equality  is 
now  at  a  discount :  it  disappears,  as  always,  in  the  presence 
of  individual  character  and  skill. 
90 


.  TSromley-Davenport 


There  is  no  humbug  about  *  The  Dream  of  the  Old 
Meltonian.'  It  connotes  the  attitude  of  the  country  gentle- 
men to  the  House  of  Commons  when  it  was  *  the  best  club 
in  London.'  There  was,  no  doubt,  a  hereditary  obligation 
to  represent  the  county  in  Parliament,  but  of  course  the 
whole  thing  was  a  bore,  and  every  one  who  knew  what 
was  good  was  naturally  thinking  about  Fox-hunting.  So 
the  prosiness  of  the  Member  for  Boreham  sends  the  Fox- 
hunter  to  sleep,  and  his  dream  brings  him  the  ecstasy  of 
the  hunting-field,  which  he  sets  before  us  with  the  pen  and 
the  imagination  of  the  artist  and  the  enthusiast. 

'  Lowesby  Hall  '  is  different  from  *  The  Dream  of  the 
Old  Meltonian/  Into  this  fine  parody,  always  with  the 
tongue  in  the  cheek,  he  introduces  one  after  another  of 
his  pet  aversions  —  money  -  lenders,  pacifists,  Cobdenites, 
plough  countries,  and  plain  women  —  and  chastises  them 
publicly.  It  is  a  political  satire  from  the  point  of 
view  of  a  Tory.  Lord  Tennyson  seems  to  have  written 
'  Locksley  Hall  '  in  serious  vein  from  the  point  of  view  of 
the  International.  Not  so  Mr.  Bromley-Davenport.  One 
feels  pretty  sure  that  if  he  and  his  friends  were  here  to- 
day they  would  not  have  approved  of  the  fusion  of  either 
the  nations  of  Europe  or  the  political  parties  of  England. 
And  then  he  finds  the  point  in  Fox-hunting  where  the 
ridiculous  meets  the  sublime,  and  discovers  that  it  is 

'  Weakness  to  be  wroth  with  weakness  !    I  Jm  an  idiot  for  my 

pains  ; 
Nature  made  for  every  sportsman  an  inferior  set  of  brains/ 

91 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

This  line  has  been  pronounced  by  more  than  one  good 
judge  to  be  the  best  in  the  whole  field  of  parody.  It  is  a 
fine  piece  of  satire  with  a  double  edge.  It  gently  rallies  that 
type  that  consists  of  nothing  but  more  or  less  glorified 
Tony  Lumpkins  ;  but  more  subtly  still  does  it  express 
what  the  prig  and  the  intellectual  were  really  thinking  about 
the  Fox-hunter,  and  would  have  said  if  they  had  dared. 
Here  is  the  original : — 

*  Weakness    to    be    wroth    with    weakness !    Woman's    pleasure, 

woman's  pain, 

Nature   made   them   blinder   motions   bounded    in   a   shallower 
brain.' 

With  both  pieces  open  before  one,  it  is  difficult  not  to 
go  on  comparing  the  two.  But  they  must  be  read  through 
from  beginning  to  end  to  be  appreciated.  Perhaps  those 
who  think  it  sacrilege  to  make  fun  of  the  really  grand  music 
of  the  then  Poet  Laureate  had  better  not  make  the  experi- 
ment. On  the  other  hand,  it  is  not  impossible  to  keep  the 
mind  in  water-tight  compartments,  and  at  one  moment 
to  revel  in  the  poetry  and  rhythm  of  Lord  Tennyson 
and  at  another  to  be  tickled  by  the  audacity  and  clever- 
ness of  Mr.  Bromley-Davenport.  What  is  it  that  invites 
parody  ?  Classic  or  claptrap  ?  Claptrap  certainly  deserves 
it.  But  '  Locksley  Hall '  is  a  classic,  and  c  Lowesby  Hall  ' 
is  not  its  only  imitation.  '  The  Lay  of  the  Lovelorn  '  in 
the  *  Eon  Gaultier  Ballads,  written  by  Sir  Theodore  Martin 
and  Professor  William  Aytoun,  has  some  shrewd  if  rather 
cheap  couplets.  But  it  has  not  the  ease  and  the  breadth 
92 


Jlfr.  ^Bromley-Davenport 

of  *  Lowesby  Hall/  which  we  have  included  in  this  collec- 
tion of  sporting  literature  because  it  is  worth  preserving, 
and  because  an  acquaintance  with  it  will  add  greatly  to  the 
humours  of  the  hunting-field.  A  young  lady  once  went 
out  hunting  by  train,  and  looked  forward  to  returning  in  the 
same  conveyance.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  A  long  point  made 
it  necessary  to  ride  home  some  sixteen  or  seventeen  miles  ; 
the  saddle  did  not  get  any  softer,  but  some  of  the  long 
weary  miles  were  made  to  seem  short  and  less  tiring  by 
the  fact  that  her  companion  was  able  to  recite  to  her  '  The 
Dream  of  an  Old  Meltonian  '  and  *  Lowesby  Hall/ 


THE  DREAM  OF  AN  OLD  MELTONIAN 

I  am  old,  I  am  old,  and  my  eyes  are  grown  weaker, 

My  beard  is  as  white  as  the  foam  on  the  sea, 
Yet  pass  me  the  bottle,  and  fill  me  a  beaker, 

A  bright  brimming  toast  in  a  bumper  for  me. 
Back,  back  through  long  vistas  of  years  I  am  wafted, 

But  the  glow  at  my  heart 's  undiminished  in  force, 
Deep,  deep  in  that  heart  has  fond  memory  engrafted 

Those  quick  thirty  minutes  from  Ranksboro'  Gorse. 

What  is  time  ?  the  effluxion  of  life  Zoophitic 

In  dreary  pursuit  of  position  or  gain. 
What  is  life  ?     The  absorption  of  vapours  mephitic, 

And  the  bursting  of  sunlight  on  senses  and  brain  ! 

93 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

Such  a  life  have  I  lived — though  so  speedily  over, 
Condensing  the  joys  of  a  century's  course, 

From  the  find  till  we  eat  him  near  Woodwellhead  Cover, 
In  thirty  bright  minutes  from  Ranksboro'  Gorse. 


Last  night  in  St.  Stephen's  so  wearily  sitting 

(The  member  for  Boreham  sustained  the  debate), 
Some  pitying  spirit  that  round  me  was  flitting 

Vouchsafed  a  sweet  vision  my  pains  to  abate. 
The  Mace,  and  the  Speaker,  and  House  disappearing, 

The  leather-clad  bench  is  a  thorough-bred  horse  ; 
'Tis  the  whimpering  cry  of  the  foxhound  I  'm  hearing, 

And  my  '  seat '  is  a  pig-skin  at  Ranksboro'  Gorse. 

He  's  away  !     I  can  hear  the  identical  holloa  ! 

I  can  feel  my  young  thorough-bred  strain  down  the  ride, 
I  can  hear  the  dull  thunder  of  hundreds  that  follow, 

I  can  see  my  old  comrades  in  life  by  my  side. 
Do  I  dream  ?  all  around  me  I  see  the  dead  riding, 

And  voices  long  silent  re-echo  with  glee  ; 
I  can  hear  the  far  wail  of  the  Master's  vain  chiding, 

As  vain  as  the  Norseman's  reproof  to  the  sea. 

Vain  indeed  !  for  the  bitches  are  racing  before  us — 

Not  a  nose  to  the  earth: — not  a  stern  in  the  air  ; 
And  we  know  by  the  notes  of  that  modified  chorus 

How  straight  we  must  ride  if  we  wish  to  be  there  ! 
With  a  crash  o'er  the  turnpike,  and  onward  I  'm  sailing, 

Released  from  the  throes  of  the  blundering  mass, 
Which  dispersed  right  and  left  as  I  topped  the  high  railing, 

And  shape  my  own  course  o'er  the  billowy  grass. 

94 


"WELL  SAVED!    WE  ARE  OVER! 


.  TSromley-Davenport 


Select  is  the  circle  in  which  I  am  moving, 

Yet  open  and  free  the  admission  to  all  ; 
Still,  still  more  select  is  that  company  proving, 

Weeded  out  by  the  funker  and  thinned  by  the  fall ; 
Yet  here  all  are  equal — no  class  legislation, 

No  privilege  hinders,  no  family  pride  : 
In  the  *  image  of  war  '  show  the  pluck  of  the  nation  ; 

Ride,  ancient  patrician  !  democracy,  ride  ! 

Oh  !  gently,  my  young  one  ;  the  fence  we  are  nearing 

Is  leaning  towards  us — 'tis  hairy  and  black, 
The  binders  are  strong,  and  necessitate  clearing, 

Or  the  wide  ditch  beyond  will  find  room  for  your  back. 
Well  saved  !    We  are  over  !  now  far  down  the  pastures 

Of  Ashwell  the  willows  betoken  the  line 
Of  the  dull-flowing  stream  of  historic  disasters  ; 

We  must  face,  my  bold  young  one,  the  dread  Whissendine  ! 

No  shallow-dug  pan  with  a  hurdle  to  screen  it, 

That  cock-tail  imposture  the  steeple  chase  brook  ; 
But  the  steep  broken  banks  tell  us  plain,  if  we  mean  it, 

The  less  we  shall  like  it  the  longer  we  look. 
Then  steady,  my  young  one,  my  place  I  've  selected, 

Above  the  dwarf  willow  'tis  sound  I  '11  be  bail, 
With  your  muscular  quarters  beneath  you  collected, 

Prepare  for  a  rush  like  the  '  limited  mail.' 

Oh  !  now  let  me  know  the  full  worth  of  your  breeding, 

Brave  son  of  Belzoni,  be  true  to  your  sires, 
Sustain  old  traditions — remember  you  're  leading 

The  cream  of  the  cream  in  the  shire  of  the  shires  ! 

95 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

With  a  quick  shortened  stride  as  the  distance  you  measure, 
With  a  crack  of  the  nostril  and  cock  of  the  ear, 

And  a  rocketing  bound,  and  we  're  over,  my  treasure, 
Twice  nine  feet  of  water,  and  landed  all  clear  ! 

What !  four  of  us  only  ?    Are  these  the  survivors 

Of  all  that  rode  gaily  from  Ranksboro's  ridge  ? 
I  hear  the  faint  splash  of  a  few  hardy  divers, 

The  rest  are  in  hopeless  research  of  a  bridge  ; 
Vae  Victis  !  the  way  of  the  world  and  the  winners  ! 

Do  we  ne'er  ride  away  from  a  friend  in  distress  ? 
Alas  !  we  are  anti-Samaritan  sinners, 

And  streaming  past  Stapleford,  onward  we  press. 

Ah  !  don't  they  mean  mischief,  the  merciless  ladies  ? 

What  fox  can  escape  such  implacable  foes  ? 
Of  the  sex  cruel  slaughter  for  ever  the  trade  is, 

Whether  human  or  animal — YONDER  he  goes  ! 
Never  more  for  the  woodland  !  his  purpose  has  failed  him, 

Though  to  gain  the  old  shelter  he  gallantly  tries  ; 
In  vain  the  last  double,  for  Jezebel 's  nailed  him  ! 

Whoohoop  !  in  the  open  the  veteran  dies  ! 

Yes,  four  of  us  only  !  but  is  it  a  vision  ? 

Dear  lost  ones,  how  came  ye  with  mortals  to  mix  ? 
Methought  that  ye  hunted  the  pastures  Elysian, 

And  between  us  there  rolled  the  unjumpable  Styx  ! 
Stay,  stay  but  a  moment !  the  grass  fields  are  fading, 

And  heavy  obscurity  palsies  my  brain  : 

Through  what  country,  what  ploughs,   and  what  sloughs 
am  I  wading  ? 

Alas  !   'tis  the  member  for  Boreham  again  ! 

96 


.  'Bromley-Davenport 


Oh,  glory  of  youth  !  consolation  of  age  ! 

Sublimest  of  ecstasies  under  the  sun  ; 
Though  the  veteran  may  linger  too  long  on  the  stage, 

Yet  he  '11  drink  a  last  toast  to  a  fox-hunting  run. 
And  oh  !  young  descendants  of  ancient  top-sawyers  ! 

By  your  lives  to  the  world  their  example  enforce  ; 
Whether  landlords,  or  parsons,  or  statesmen,  or  lawyers, 

Ride  straight  as  they  rode  it  from  Ranksboro'  Gorse. 

Though  a  rough-riding  world  may  bespatter  your  breeches, 

Though  sorrow  may  cross  you,  or  slander  revile, 
Though  you  plunge  overhead  in  misfortune's  blind  ditches, 

Shun  the  gap  of  deception,  the  hand-gate  of  guile  : 
Oh,  avoid  them  !  for  there,  see  the  crowd  is  contending, 

Ignoble  the  object  —  ill-mannered  the  throng  ; 
Shun  the  miry  lane,  falsehood,  with  turns  never  ending, 

Ride  straight  for  truth's  timber,  no  matter  how  strong. 

I  '11  pound  you  safe  over  !  sit  steady  and  quiet  ; 

Along  the  sound  headland  of  honesty  steer  ; 
Beware  of  false  holloas  and  juvenile  riot, 

Though  the  oxer  of  duty  be  wide,  never  fear  ! 
And  when  the  run  's  over  of  earthly  existence, 

And  you  get  safe  to  ground,  you  will  fear  no  remorse, 
If  you  ride  it  —  no  matter  what  line  or  what  distance  — 

As  straight  as  your  fathers  from  Ranksboro'  Gorse. 


97 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 


LOWESBY  HALL 

Gilmour,  leave  me  here  a  little,  and  when  John  of  Gaunt  is  drawn, 
If  you  find  the  raw  material,  let  Jack  Morgan  blow  his  horn. 

'Tis  the  place,  and  all  around  me,  as  of  old,  the  magpies  call, 
Boding  evil  to  the  Lord,  and  flying  over  Lowesby  Hall. 

Lowesby  Hall  that  in  the  distance  overlooks  the  grassy  plains, 
Swamped  from  Twyford  to  the  Coplow  by  the  everlasting  rains. 

Many  a  day  from  yonder  spinney  in  November  moist  and  chill 
Have  I  watched  the  wily  animal  sneak  slowly  up  the  hill. 

Many  a  night  I  Ve  watched  the  vapours  of  my  last  remaining  weed, 
When  my  spurs  have  ceased  to  animate  my  apathetic  steed. 

Here   in   search    of    sport   I  Ve  wandered,  nourishing  a  verdant 

youth 
With  the  fairy  tales  of  gallops — ancient  runs  devoid  of  truth. 

When  I  dip't  into  my  prospects  far  as  ever  I  could  get, 
And  felt  the  wild,  delirious  joy  of  getting  into  debt. 

In  the  spring  the  pink  no  longer  clothes  the  sad  Meltonian's  breast, 
In  the  spring  his  stumped-up  horses  are  at  least  allowed  a  rest. 

In  the  spring  too  he  must  settle  for  the  cursed  corn  and  hay, 
In  the  spring  the  dire  conviction  comes  upon  him — he  must  pay. 


.  Bromley  -Davenport 


Then  my  tradesmen  all  about  my  doors  most  obstinately  clung, 
And  their  eyes  on  all  my  movements  with  a  grave  observance  hung. 

So  I  said,  *  My  faithful  tailor,  do  a  bit  of  stiff  for  me, 

Trust  me  yet  —  my  uncle  's  shaky  —  all  his  coin  shall  flow  to  thee.' 

On  his  greasy  cheek  and  forehead  came  a  colour  and  a  light, 
As  I  've  seen  the  nimble  lamplighter  turn  on  the  gas  at  night. 

And  he  said,  '  I  'm  proud  to  serve  thee,  sir,  as  any  gent  in  town, 
If  so  shaky  be  thine  uncle,  thou  shalt  have  the  money  down.' 

Credit  seized  the  glass  of  time  and  dribbled  out  the  golden  sand, 
Every  day  became  more  valueless  my  frequent  note  of  hand. 

Health  revived  my  hardy  uncle  ;  now,  alas  !  he  coughed  no  more, 
And  the  day  of  his  decease  appeared  more  distant  than  before. 

Many  a  morning  have  I  waited  with  my  hopes  upon  the  rack, 
Vainly  waited  for  the  footman  and  a  letter  sealed  with  black. 

Oh,  my  tailor  !  shallow-hearted  !  oh,  my  tailor,  mine  no  more  ! 
Oh,  the  dreary,  dreary  Bond  Street  !    oh,  the  Strand's  unhappy 
shore  ! 

Is  it  well  to  use  me  thus,  sir  —  having  known  me,  to  decline 
Any  further  cash  advances  —  with  securities  like  mine  ? 

But  it  shall  be  —  thou  shalt  lower  to  the  level  of  a  dun, 
Seeking  custom  with  acrostics  like  the  Moseses  and  Son. 

As  the  tradesman,  so  the  customer,  and  thou  shalt  measure  clowns, 
They  shall  pay  thee  for  thy  corduroys  in  ignominious  browns. 

99 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

I  would  practise — oh,  how  gladly  !  in  the  fulness  of  my  hate, 
All  the  slasher's  best  instructions  on  thine  ugly  dial-plate. 


What  is  that  which  I  could  turn  to  ?     Can  a  gentleman  descend 
To  dig  the  gold  which  nature  intended  him  to  spend  ? 

Every  ship  is  filled  with  footmen,  and  Australia  overflows 
With  the  Piccadilly  porters  and  the  butlers  whom  one  knows. 

I  had  been  content  to  perish  on  the  sandy  Sussex  shore 
Where  Militia  men  are  marshalled  to  the  Minie  rifle's  roar. 

But  the  gentle  voice  of  Cobden  drowns  the  first  invader's  drum, 
And  the  Frenchmen  do  but  bluster,  and  Napoleon  funks  to  come. 

Can  I  but  relive  in  fancy  ?     Can  I  view  the  past  again  ? 

Hide  me  from  my  deep  emotion — oh,  thou  wonderful  champagne  ! 

Make  me  feel  the  wild  pulsation  I  have  often  felt  before, 
When  my  horse  went  on  before  me  and  my  hack  was  at  the 
door. 

Yearning  for  the  large  excitement  that  the  coming  sport  would 

yield, 
And  rejoicing  in  the  cropper  which  I  got  the  second  field. 

And  at  night  along  the  highway,  in  the  evening  dark  and  chill, 
I  saw  the  lights  of  Melton  from  the  top  of  Burton  Hill. 
100 


ON    HIS    GREASY    CHEEK    AND    FOREHEAD    CAME    A    COLOUR   AND    A    LIGHT. 


.  'Bromley-Davenport.  L I  i-"0  %  :'•• 

Then  my  spirit  rushed  before  me,  and  I  felt  the  *  thirty-four  ' 
Percolating    through     my    system.       Noble    vintage !       Now    no 
more. 


Brother  thrusters  !    Brother  funkers  !    You  may  well  look  rather 

blue, 
For  the  future  that  's  impending  is  a  queerish  one  for  you. 

For  I  looked  into  its  pages,  and  I  read  the  book  of  fate, 
And  saw  Fox-hunting  abolished  by  an  order  from  the  State  ; 

Saw   the   heavens   filled   with   guano,   and   the   clouds   at   men's 

command 
Raining  down  unsavoury  liquids  for  the  benefit  of  land  ; 

Saw  the  airy  navies  earthward  bear  the  planetary  swell, 
And  the  long  projected  railroad  made  from  Halifax  to  H — 1 ; 

Saw  the  landlords  yield  their  acres  after  centuries  of  wrongs, 
Cotton  lords  turn  country  gentlemen  in  patriotic  throngs ; 

Queen,  religion,  State  abandoned,  and  the  flags  of  party  furled 
In  the  Government  of  Cobden,  and  the  dotage  of  the  world. 

Then  shall  exiled  common  sense  espouse  some  other  country's 

cause, 
And  the  rogues  shall  thrive  in  England,  bonneting  the  slumbering 

laws. 


101 


•  -;!  ;:l  0"!  I  ..2-%.'  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

Hark  !    my  merry  comrades  call  me,  and  Jack  Morgan  blows  his 

horn, 
I,  to  whom  their  foolish  pastime  is  an  object  of  my  scorn. 

Can  a  sight  be  more  disgusting — more  absurd  a  paradox, 
Than  two  hundred  people  riding  at  a  miserable  fox  ? 

Will  his  capture  on  the  morrow  any  satisfaction  bring  ? 

I  am  shamed  thro'  all  my  nature  to  have  done  so  flat  a  thing. 

Weakness   to   be   wroth   with   weakness !     I  'm   an   idiot   for   my 

pains  ; 
Nature  made  for  every  sportsman  an  inferior  set  of  brains. 

Here  at  last  I  '11  stay  no  longer,  let  me  seek  for  some  abode, 
Deep  in  some  provincial  county  far  from  rail  or  turnpike  road. 

There  to  break  all  links  of  habit,  and  to  find  a  secret  charm 
In  the  mysteries  of  manuring  and  the  produce  of  a  farm. 

To  deplore  the  fall  of  barley,  to  admire  the  rise  of  peas, 
Over  flagons  of  October,  giant  mounds  of  bread  and  cheese. 

Never  company  to  dinner,  never  visitors  from  town, 

Just  the  Parson  and  the  Doctor  (Mr.  Smith  and  Mr.  Brown). 

Droops  the  heavy  conversation  to  an  after-dinner  snort, 
And  articulation  ceases  with  the  sacred  flask  of  port. 

These,  methinks,  would  be  enjoyment  more  than  at  the  festive 

board, 
Than  the  hunger-mocking,  kickshaw-covered  table  of  a  lord. 

102 


J\fr.  Bromley-Davenport 

Then  my  heart  shall  beat  no   longer  with  my  passion's  foolish 

throbs, 
I  will  wed  some  vulgar  woman — she  will  rear  my  race  of  snobs. 

Double-jointed,  mutton-fisted,  they  shall  run  but  shall  not  ride, 
Hunting  with  the  York  and  Nasty  or  the  harriers  of  Brookside. 

Fool   again  !   the   dream  !   the  fancy  !   but  I  know  my  words  are 

stuff, 
For  I  hold  the  swell  provincial  lower  than  the  Melton  muff. 

I  to  hunt  with  fustian  jackets,  my  remaining  years  to  pass 
With  the  refuse  of  protection — in  a  land  devoid  of  grass. 

Tied  to  one  perpetual  woman,  what  to  me  were  soil  or  clime, 
I  who  never  could  endure  the  same  for  ten  days  at  a  time  ? 

I  who  hold  it  better  to  pursue  the  patriarchal  plan 
Than  tamely  to  submit  to  a  monopoly  of  man  ? 

Not  in  vain  the  distance  beckons.    What  's  that  skirting  the  hill 

side  ? 
'Tis  the  fox !     I  '11  bet  a  hundred  !    forward  !    forward  !    let  us 

ride. 

I  'm  before  them,  and  they  d — n  me  ;  but  no  matter,  go  along  ! 
Better  fifty  yards  before  them  than  behind  among  the  throng. 

Ha  !    ha  !    ha  !    was  that  an  over  ?    What !    old  Rambler !    is  he 

dead  ? 
What  of  that  ?  pick  up  the  pieces  ;  he  was  mortal !  go  ahead. 

103 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

Oh,  Sir  Richard,  you  may  holloa  !  but  my  spirit  knows  no  bounds  ; 
Curse  the  scent,  and  hang  the  huntsman  ;  rot  the  master,  d — n  the 
hounds ! 


Lost  the  fox  !     'Twas  I  that  did  it !     Oh,  of  course,  I  always  do  ; 
Comes  Sir  Richard,  black  as  thunder.    I  '11  evaporate — adieu. 

Plough  the  grass,  erect  wire  fences,  shoot  the  foxes,  freeze  and 

snow ; 
I  can  catch  the  train  atJLeicester  ;  so  to  Euston  Square  I  go. 


104 


CHAPTER   VI 

BECKFORD 

BECKFORD'S  '  Thoughts  upon  Hunting  '  was  published 
in  1781,  and  has  a  wider  reputation  than  any  other 
work  of  its  kind.  The  author  was  a  Dorsetshire 
squire,  but  not  of  the  type  of  West  Country  squire  depicted 
by  Fielding.  He  was  well  travelled  and  well  read,  and  his 
book  is  cultivated  and  amusing.  A  contemporary  writer 
says  of  him :  '  Never  had  fox  or  hare  the  honour  of  being 
chased  to  death  by  so  accomplished  a  huntsman  ;  never 
was  a  huntsman's  dinner  graced  by  such  urbanity  and  wit. 
He  would  bag  a  fox  in  Greek,  find  a  hare  in  Latin,  inspect 
his  kennels  in  Italian,  and  direct  the  economy  of  his  stables 
in  excellent  French/ 

His  treatise  upon  Fox-hunting  marks  the  early  years  of 
the  increased  pace  that  first  became  fashionable  just  after 
the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Such  men  as  Meynell, 
Musters,  and  Smith-Barry  were  the  pioneers  of  the  new  system 
of  finding  the  Fox  in  his  kennel  at  eleven  o'clock  and  making 
him  fly  or  die,  instead  of  dragging  up  to  him  in  the  small 
hours  of  the  morning.  Hounds  were  now  bred  for  stout- 
ness and  speed.  Beckford  was  in  favour  of  a  Hound  of  the 
middle  size.  *  I  believe/  he  says,  *  all  animals  of  that  de- 
scription are  strongest,  and  best  able  to  endure  fatigue.  .  .  . 

105 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

Such  hounds  will  not  suffer  themselves  to  be  disgraced 
in  any  country.'  His  remarks  about  the  handling  of  Hounds 
in  the  field  are  as  fresh  to-day  as  on  the  day  they  were 
written.  He  liked  to  see  the  thing  neatly  and  quickly 
done,  with  the  least  possible  expenditure  of  time  and  tissue. 
Fox-hunting  had  become  the  amusement  of  gentlemen, 
*  the  intemperance,  clownishness,  and  ignorance  of  the  old 
fox-hunter  '  being  *  quite  worn  out.'  It  therefore  ought  to 
be  carried  out  in  a  gentlemanly  manner  at  a  gentlemanly 
hour,  though,  if  Hounds  are  out  of  blood,  they  should  be 
taken  out  at  an  early  hour  when  the  Fox  has  a  full  belly, 
so  as  to  give  them  every  advantage.  Beckford  is  indeed 
sound  according  to  the  light  of  modern  experience  on 
almost  every  point. 

There  are,  however,  two  points  on  which  we  venture  to 
disagree  with  him.  One  is  his  recommendation  that  barley- 
meal  should  be  mixed  with  the  oatmeal.  We  have  before 
us  an  edition  of  *  Thoughts  upon  Hunting  '  printed  in  1798, 
with  pencil  notes  in  the  margin  evidently  written  by  some 
old  M.F.H.  who  knew  what  he  was  talking  about.  *  Don't 
use  barley  at  all,'  says  he ;  '  oatmeal  and  flesh  are  the  best 
possible  food  for  hounds.'  And  later  on,  *  Hounds  cannot 
run  on  barley-meal,  as  those  who  try  will  prove  it.'  This 
gentleman  was  quite  correct,  if  not  quite  grammatical. 
The  other  matter  in  which  Beckford  may  be  said  to  be 
heterodox  is  with  regard  to  some  remarks  he  makes  about 
the  use  of  the  whip.  After  posing  as  an  opponent  of  any 
unnecessary  punishment  as  being  nothing  less  than  gratui- 
106 


T&eckford 


tous  cruelty,  this  really  great  sportsman  actually  says  that 
if  any  Hounds  *  should  be  more  riotous  than  the  rest,  they 
may  receive  a  few  cuts  in  the  morning  before  they  leave 
the  kennel.'  It  is  almost  incredible. 

It  is  true  that  Beckford,  like  others  of  his  age,  was 
obsessed  with  the  idea  of  riot,  which  does  not  for  some 
reason  seem  to  trouble  us  so  much  in  these  days ;  but  that 
a  beautiful  creature  like  a  Foxhound,  or  indeed  any  dumb 
animal,  should  be  made  to  suffer  pain  for  no  reason  or 
fault  is  positively  revolting,  to  say  nothing  of  its  being 
quite  useless.  Yet  Beckford  returns  to  the  charge  on  the 
very  next  page  :  '  Such  hounds  as  are  notorious  offenders 
should  also  feel  the  lash  and  hear  a  rate  as  they  go  to  the 
covert ;  it  may  be  a  useful  hint  to  them,  and  may  prevent 
a  severer  flogging  afterwards/  Fancy  a  modern  hunts- 
man arriving  at  the  meet  with  some  of  the  Hounds  half 
cowed,  and  their  beautiful  coats  marked  with  the  thong 
as  a  prophylactic  against  hunting  hares  during  the  day  ! 
We  know  of  at  least  one  establishment  where  he  would  not 
do  it  more  than  once.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  no  modern 
huntsman  could  be  found  who  would  countenance  such 
a  brutal  and  a  senseless  thing.  To-day  we  are  wiser  and 
more  merciful. 

Now  for  something  more  pleasant.  Beckford  is  parti- 
cularly happy  in  everything  he  says  about  hunting  the  Fox. 
His  remarks  about  what  to  do,  or  rather  what  not  to  do, 
when  Hounds  are  at  fault  are  curiously  like  those  of  Lord 
Henry  Bentinck  in  *  GoodalVs  Practice?  and  are  in  harmony 

107 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

with  the  experience  of  every  authority.  And  this  ex- 
perience teaches  you  that  when  the  Hounds  come  to  a  check 
every  one  should  stand  still,  huntsman  included,  until  the 
Hounds  have  done  trying  for  themselves.  *  The  huntsman  at 
a  check  had  better  let  his  hounds  alone.  .  .  .'  *  Hounds  that 
are  not  used  to  be  cast  will  themselves  acquire  a  better  cast 
than  it  is  in  the  power  of  any  huntsman  to  give  them  ; 
will  spread  more,  and  try  better  for  the  scent.  ...  I 
never  approve  of  their  being  cast  so  long  as  they  are  in- 
clined to  hunt/  and  so  on.  Beckford,  like  all  good  judges, 
was  an  inveterate  opponent  of  fancy  casts.  His  own  hunts- 
man was  always  expected  to  make  the  orthodox  circle  first 
of  all  before  flying  any  kites  on  his  own  account.  But 
although  Beckford  thoroughly  appreciated  the  golden  rule 
of  leaving  Hounds  alone  at  the  right  moment,  he  quite 
rightly  doubted  whether  a  pack  of  Hounds,  always  left 
entirely  alone,  would  kill  a  Fox  at  all.  In  fact,  he  goes  so 
far  as  to  say  that  a  Foxhound  who  will  not  bear  lifting  is 
not  worth  the  keeping.  But  he  adds  to  this  a  most  invalu- 
able qualification  :  *  Hounds  never,  in  my  opinion  (unless 
in  particular  cases,  or  when  you  go  to  a  halloo),  should  be 
taken  entirely  off  their  noses,  but  when  lifted,  should  be 
constantly  made  to  try  as  they  go.'  This  looks  like  a  contra- 
diction in  terms,  and  maybe  the  sentence  is  rather  slipshod. 
When  Hounds  are  lifted  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  term 
they  should  be  deliberately  taken  off  their  noses,  and  not 
allowed  to  put  them  down  again  until  the  huntsman  desires 
them  to  do  so.  But  it  is  easy  to  see  what  Beckford  means. 
1 08 


IZeckford 


He  means  that  unless  they  are  being  taken  to  a  holloa, 
they  should  never  be  taken  off  their  noses  when  they  are 
at  fault.  In  fact,  the  huntsman  should  be  able  to  move 
them  about  with  their  noses  down.  This  is  not  always 
easy  to  do,  and  the  power  of  doing  it  is  what  distinguishes 
the  artist  and  places  him  above  his  fellows.  All  good 
packs  of  Hounds  spread  out  like  a  fan  immediately  they 
lose  the  scent,  and  separate  this  way  and  that.  When  the 
huntsman  has  presently  to  manoeuvre  them,  for  instance 
to  get  on  to  fresh  or  favourable  ground,  he  should  on  no 
account  call  them  together  again,  but  move  them  in  ex- 
tended order  in  front  of  his  horse.  The  open  formation 
they  have  adopted  is  the  most  favourable  one  for  cover- 
ing the  ground  and  recovering  the  line,  and  it  is  a  wicked 
thing  to  spoil  it.  Yet  how  often  does  one  see  the  hunts- 
man call  the  Hounds  together,  trot  off  to  the  place  where 
he  wishes  to  make  the  ground  good,  and  then  ask  them 
to  spread  out  again  ?  They  probably  think,  as  Beckford 
suggests,  that  he  has  abandoned  the  pursuit  altogether,  and 
is  going  to  look  for  another  Fox.  When  he  gets  to  the  place 
where  he  wants  them  to  try  again,  much  time  is  wasted 
in  getting  them  to  spread  and  put  their  heads  down,  if  in- 
deed he  succeeds  in  doing  so  at  all. 

Letter  XX.  in '  Thoughts  upon  Hunting '  is  one  of  the  most 
intelligent  and  sensitive  pieces  of  writing  to  be  found  in 
any  text-book  of  the  Chase,  and  marks  Peter  Beckford  as 
one  of  the  great  master-minds  in  the  study  of  the  science 
and  art  of  Fox-hunting.  It  is  lucky  for  posterity  that  he 

109 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

was  able  to  reduce  to  writing  the  result  of  his  keen  observation, 
and  to  do  it  in  a  style  which  is  so  readable.  He  never  gets 
very  far  away  from  the  laugh.  He  writes  so  naturally  and 
fluently  that  he  sometimes  gets  a  little  off  the  line,  and  then 
sets  himself  straight  by  a  footnote.  For  instance,  in  this 
Letter  XX.  he  opens  up  a  very  interesting  speculation  by 
saying  that  it  is  a  great  fault  in  a  huntsman  to  persevere  in 
bad  weather,  when  Hounds  cannot  run,  and  when  there 
is  not  a  probability  of  killing  a  Fox.  But  no  sooner  are  the 
words  written  than  he  detects  the  underlying  fallacy  of  this 
proposition,  and  says  that  although  he  would  not  go  out 
on  a  very  windy  day,  '  yet  a  bad  scenting  day  is  sometimes 
of  service  to  a  pack  of  foxhounds — they  acquire  patience 
from  it  and  method  of  hunting.* 

Perhaps  Beckford  paid  all  the  expenses  himself  and  owned 
the  Hounds  he  hunted,  and  in  the  Dorsetshire  of  the  eighteenth 
century  only  had  a  small  band  of  followers,  probably  consist- 
ing of  a  few  neighbouring  squires,  to  propitiate.  If  so,  he 
could  pick  his  days  and  go  home  when  he  liked.  A  modern 
M.F.H.  is  expected  to  hunt  in  all  weathers  except  a  hard 
frost  or  a  dense  fog.  This  convention  saves  trouble  in  the 
long  run.  Who  shall  say  what  is  the  exact  degree  of  wind 
that  should  keep  the  Hounds  at  home  ?  How  did  Mr.  Beckford 
know  that  the  tempest  would  not  abate  in  the  afternoon  ? 

Letter  XIII.,  which  is  here  presented,  is  the  best  de- 
scription of  a  run  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  Hound 
man  that  has  yet  appeared  in  print.  The  author  was  a 
Hound  man,  first  and  last  and  all  the  time.  *  Thoughts  upon 
no 


TSeckford 


Hunting '  contains  but  little  about  horses  and  nothing  about 
how  to  ride  them.  The  horse  was  just  an  accessory  of 
the  Chase.  This  is  where  Beckford  differs  from  the  other 
authors  in  this  volume.  He  says  not  a  word  about  bull- 
finches, brooks,  posts  and  rails,  cutting  people  down, 
thinning  out  the  field,  and  so  forth.  His  whole  soul  is 
concentrated  on  the  Fox  and  the  Hounds.  At  times  he 
pours  it  out  in  language  which,  if  not  quite  blank  verse, 
contains  at  least  as  much  poetry  as  the  lines  of  Somervile 
whom  he  quotes  so  freely.  If  indeed  he  was  inspired  by 
Somervile  —  and  he  presumably  wrote  the  chapter  with 
'  The  Chase '  open  before  him — he  certainly  '  gets  it  over  '  a 
great  deal  better  than  his  model.  So  much  better  that  he 
might  almost  be  using  Somervile  as  a  foil.  The  beauty 
of  the  thing  is  that  it  not  only  throbs  from  start  to  finish 
with  the  joy  of  the  pursuit,  but  also  gives  us  at  the  same 
time  the  intimate  knowledge  of  the  expert. 


A  FOX  CHASE 

Let  us  suppose  that  we  are  arrived  at  the  cover  side  : — 

'  Delightful  scene  ! 

Where  all  around  is  gay,  men,  horses,  dogs  ; 
And  in  each  smiling  countenance  appears 
Fresh  blooming  health,  and  universal  joy.' 

SOMERVILE. 

Now  let  your  huntsman  throw  in  his  hounds  as  quietly 
as  he  can,  and  let  the  two  whippers-in  keep  wide  of  him  on 

in 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

either  side,  so  that  a  single  hound  may  not  escape  them  ;  let 
them  be  attentive  to  his  halloo,  and  be  ready  to  encourage, 
or  rate,  as  that  directs  ;  he  will,  of  course,  draw  up  the 
wind,  for  reasons  which  I  shall  give  in  another  place.  Now, 
if  you  can  keep  your  brother  sportsmen  in  order,  and  put 
any  discretion  into  them,  you  are  in  luck  ;  they  more  fre- 
quently do  harm  than  good  :  if  it  be  possible,  persuade 
those  who  wish  to  halloo  the  fox  off  to  stand  quiet  under 
the  cover  side,  and  on  no  account  to  halloo  him  too  soon  ; 
if  they  do,  he  most  certainly  will  turn  back  again  :  could 
you  entice  them  all  into  the  cover,  your  sport,  in  all  prob- 
ability, would  not  be  the  worse  for  it. 

How  well  the  hounds  spread  the  cover  !  the  huntsman, 
you  see,  is  quite  deserted,  and  his  horse,  who  so  lately  had 
a  crowd  at  his  heels,  has  not  now  one  attendant  left.  How 
steadily  they  draw  !  you  hear  not  a  single  hound  ;  yet 
none  are  idle.  Is  not  this  better  than  to  be  subject  to 
continual  disappointment  from  the  eternal  babbling  of  un- 
steady hounds  ? 

'  See  !  how  they  range 
Dispers'd,  how  busily  this  way  and  that 
They  cross,  examining  with  curious  nose 
Each  likely  haunt.     Hark  !  on  the  drag  I  hear 
Their  doubtful  notes,  preluding  to  a  cry 
More  nobly  full,  and  swell 'd  with  every  mouth.' 

SOMERVILE. 

How  musical  their  tongues  ! — And  as  they  get  nearer 
to  him,  how  the  chorus  fills  ! — Hark  !    he  is  found. — Now, 
where  are  all  your  sorrows,  your  cares,  ye  gloomy  souls  ? 
112 


"NOW    I.F/T    YOUR    HUNTSMAN    THROW    IN    HIS    HOUNDS    AS    QUIETLY    AS    HK    CAN. 


TSeckford 


Or  where  your  pains,  and  aches,  ye  complaining  ones  ?  one 
halloo  has  dispelled  them  all. — What  a  crash  they  make  ! 
and  echo  seemingly  takes  place  to  repeat  the  sounds.  The 
astonished  traveller  forsakes  his  road,  lured  by  its  melody  ; 
the  listening  plowman  now  stops  his  plow  ;  and  every 
distant  shepherd  neglects  his  flock,  and  runs  to  see  him 
break. — What  joy  !  what  eagerness  in  every  face  ! 

'  How  happy  art  thou,  man,  when  thou  'it  no  more 
Thyself  !  when  all  the  pangs  that  grind  thy  soul, 
In  rapture  and  in  sweet  oblivion  lost, 
Yield  a  short  interval,  and  ease  from  pain  !  * 

SOMERVILE. 

Mark  how  he  runs  the  covert's  utmost  limits,  yet  dares 
not  venture  forth  ;  the  hounds  are  still  too  near  !  That 
check  is  lucky  ! — now,  if  our  friends  head  him  not,  he  will 
soon  be  off — hark  !  they  halloo  :  by  G — d  he  's  gone  ! 

'  Hark  !  what  loud  shouts 
Re-echo  thro'  the  grooves  !  he  breaks  away  : 
Shrill  horns  proclaim  his  flight.    Each  straggling  hound 
Strains  o'er  the  lawn  to  reach  the  distant  pack, 
'Tis  triumph  all,  and  joy.' 

SOMERVILE. 

Now  huntsman,  get  on  with  the  head  hounds ;  the 
whipper-in  will  bring  on  the  others  after  you  :  keep  an 
attentive  eye  on  the  leading  hounds,  that  should  the  scent 
fail  them,  you  may  know  at  least  how  far  they  brought  it. 

Mind  Galloper,  how  he  leads  them  ! — It  is  difficult  to 
distinguish  which  is  first,  they  run  in  such  a  style  ;  yet  he 
is  the  foremost  hound. — The  goodness  of  his  nose  is  not 
H  113 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

less  excellent  than  his  speed  : — how  he  carries  the  scent  ! 
and  when  he  loses  it,  see  how  eagerly  he  flings  to  recover 
it  again  !  There — now  he  's  at  head  again  !  See  how  they 
top  the  hedge  ! — Now,  how  they  mount  the  hill  ! — Observe 
what  a  head  they  carry,  and  shew  me,  if  thou  canst,  one 
shuffler  or  shirker  amongst  them  all  :  are  they  not  like  a 
parcel  of  brave  fellows,  who,  when  they  engage  in  an  under- 
taking, determine  to  share  its  fatigue  and  its  dangers,  equally 
amongst  them  ? 

*  Far  o'er  the  rocky  hills  we  range, 
And  dangerous  our  course  ;  but  in  the  brave 
True  courage  never  fails.     In  vain  the  stream 
In  foaming  eddies  whirls,  in  vain  the  ditch 
Wide  gaping  threatens  death.     The  craggy  steep, 
Where  the  poor  dizzy  shepherd  crawls  with  care, 
And  clings  to  every  twig,  gives  us  no  pain  ; 
But  down  we  sweep,  as  stoops  the  falcon  bold 
To  pounce  his  prey.     Then  up  the  opponent  hill, 
By  the  swift  motion  flung,  we  mount  aloft ; 
So  ships  in  winter  seas  now  sliding  sink 
Adown  the  steepy  wave,  then  toss'd  on  high 
Ride  on  the  billows,  and  defy  the  storm.' 

SOMERVILE. 

It  was  then  the  fox  I  saw,  as  we  came  down  the  hill  ; — 
those  crows  directed  me  which  way  to  look,  and  the  sheep 
ran  from  him  as  he  passed  along.  The  hounds  are  now  on 
the  very  spot,  yet  the  sheep  stop  them  not,  for  they  dash 
beyond  them.  Now  see  with  what  eagerness  they  cross 
the  plain  ! — Galloper  no  longer  keeps  his  place,  Brusher 
takes  it — see  how  he  flings  for  the  scent,  and  how  impetu- 
114 


TSeckford 


ously  he  runs  ! — How  eagerly  he  took  the  lead,  and  how 
he  strives  to  keep  it — yet  Victor  comes  up  apace.  —  He 
reaches  him  !  See  what  an  excellent  race  it  is  between 
them  !  It  is  doubtful  which  will  reach  the  covert  first. — 
How  equally  they  run  ! — how  eagerly  they  strain !  Now 
Victor — Victor  ! — Ah  !  Brusher,  you  are  beaten  ;  Victor 
first  tops  the  hedge. — See  there  !  see  how  they  all  take  it  in 
their  strokes  !  the  hedge  cracks  with  their  weight,  so  many 
jump  at  once. 

Now  hastes  the  whipper-in  to  the  other  side  of  the  cover; 
he  is  right  unless  he  head  the  fox. 

*  Heav'ns  !  what  melodious  strains  !  how  beats  our  hearts 
Big  with  tumultuous  joy  !  the  loaded  gales 

Breathe  harmony  ;  and  as  the  tempest  drives 
From  wood  to  wood,  thro'  ev'ry  dark  recess 
The  forest  thunders,  and  the  mountains  shake/ 

SOMERVILE. 

Listen ! — the  hounds  have  turned.  They  are  now  in  two  parts : 
the  fox  has  been  headed  back,  and  we  have  changed  at  last. 
Now,  my  lad,  mind  the  huntsman's  halloo,  and  stop  to 
those  hounds  which  he  encourages.  He  is  right ! — that, 
doubtless,  is  the  hunted  fox. — Now  they  are  off  again. 

*  What  lengths  we  pass  !  where  will  the  thundering  chace 
Lead  us  bewilder'd  !  smooth  as  swallows  skim 

The  new-thorn  mead,  and  far  more  swift  we  fly. 
See  my  brave  pack  ;  how  to  the  head  they  press, 
Justling  in  close  array,  then  more  diffuse 
Obliquely  wheel,  while  from  their  op'ning  mouths 
The  vollied  thunder  breaks. 

"5 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

Look  back  and  view 

The  strange  confusion  of  the  vale  below, 
Where  sore  vexation  reigns  ; 

Old  age  laments 

His  vigour  spent  ;  the  tall,  plump,  brawny  youth 
Curses  his  cumbrous  bulk,  and  envies  now 
The  short  pygmean  race  he  whilom  kenn'd 
With  proud  insulting  leer.    A  chosen  few 
Alone  the  sport  enjoy,  nor  droop  beneath 
Their  pleasing  toils.' 

SOMERVILE. 

Ha  !  a  check. — Now  for  a  moment's  patience  ! — We  press 
too  close  upon  the  hounds  ! — Huntsman,  stand  still  !  as 
they  want  you  not. — How  admirably  they  spread  !  how 
wide  they  cast !  Is  there  a  single  hound  that  does  not 
try  ?  If  there  be,  ne'er  shall  he  hunt  again.  There,  True- 
man  is  on  the  scent — he  feathers,  yet  still  is  doubtful — 
'tis  right  !  How  readily  they  join  him  !  See  those  wide- 
casting  hounds,  how  they  fly  forward  to  recover  the  ground 
they  have  lost  ! — Mind  Lightning,  how  she  dashes  ;  and 
Mungo,  how  he  works  !  Old  Frantic,  too,  now  pushes 
forward  ;  she  knows,  as  well  as  we,  the  fox  is  sinking. 

*  Ha  !  yet  he  flies,  nor  yields 
To  black  despair.     But  one  loose  more,  and  all 
His  wiles  are  vain.    Hark  !  thro'  yon  village  now 
The  rattling  clamour  rings.     The  barns,  the  cots, 
And  leafless  elms  return  the  joyous  sounds. 
Thro'  every  homestall,  and  thro'  ev'ry  yard, 
His  midnight  walks,  panting,  forlorn,  he  flies.' 

SOMERVILE. 

Huntsman  !  at  fault  at  last  ?    How  far  did  you  bring  the 
116 


ISeckford 


scent  ? — Have  the  hounds  made  their  own  cast  ? — Now  make 
yours.  You  see  that  sheep-dog  has  coursed  the  fox  ; — 
get  forward  with  your  hounds  and  make  a  wide  cast. 

Hark  !  that  halloo  is  indeed  a  lucky  one. — If  we  can 
hold  him  on,  we  may  yet  recover  him  ;  for  a  fox,  so  much 
distressed,  must  stop  at  last.  We  shall  now  see  if  they  will 
hunt  as  well  as  run  ;  for  there  is  but  little  scent,  and  the 
impending  cloud  still  makes  that  little  less.  How  they 
enjoy  the  scent ! — see  how  busy  they  all  are,  and  how  each 
in  his  turn  prevails  ! 

Huntsman  !  be  quiet.  Whilst  the  scent  was  good,  you 
press'd  on  your  hounds  ;  it  was  well  done  :  when  they 
came  to  a  check,  you  stood  still,  and  interrupted  them  not ; 
they  were  afterwards  at  fault ;  you  made  your  cast  with 
judgment,  and  lost  no  time.  You  now  must  let  them  hunt ; 
— with  such  a  cold  scent  as  this  you  can  do  no  good  ;  they 
must  do  it  all  themselves  ; — lift  them  now,  and  not  a  hound 
will  stoop  again. — Ha  !  a  high  road,  at  such  a  time  as  this, 
when  the  tender est- nosed  hound  can  hardly  own  the  scent  ! 
Another  fault !  That  man  at  work,  then,  has  headed  back 
the  fox.  Huntsman  !  cast  not  your  hounds  now,  you  see 
they  have  overrun  the  scent ;  have  a  little  patience,  and 
let  them,  for  once,  try  back. 

We  now  must  give  them  time  ; — see  where  they  bend 
towards  yonder  furze  brake. — I  wish  he  may  have  stopped 
there  ! — Mind  that  old  hound,  how  he  dashes  o'er  the 
furze  ;  I  think  he  winds  him. — Now  for  a  fresh  entapis  ! 
Hark  !  they  halloo  !  Aye,  there  he  goes. 

117 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

It  is  nearly  over  with  him  ;  had  the  hounds  caught 
view,  he  must  have  died. — He  will  hardly  reach  the  cover  ; 
see  how  they  gain  upon  him  at  every  stroke  ! — It  is  an 
admirable  race  !  yet  the  cover  saves  him. 

Now  be  quiet,  and  he  cannot  escape  us  ;  we  have  the 
wind  of  the  hounds,  and  cannot  be  better  placed  :  how 
short  he  runs  !  he  is  now  in  the  very  strongest  part  of  the 
cover. — What  a  crash  !  Every  hound  is  in,  and  every 
hound  is  running  for  him.  That  was  a  quick  turn  ! — Again 
another  ! — he  's  put  to  his  last  shifts. — Now  Mischief  is  at 
his  heels,  and  death  is  not  far  off. — Ha !  they  all  stop  at 
once  ; — all  silent,  and  yet  no  earth  is  open.  Listen  !  now 
they  are  at  him  again  1  Did  you  hear  that  hound  catch 
him  ?  They  overran  the  scent,  and  the  fox  had  laid  down 
behind  them.  Now,  Reynard,  look  to  yourself !  How 
quick  they  all  give  their  tongues  !  Little  Dreadnought, 
how  he  works  him  !  the  terriers  too,  they  are  now  squeak- 
ing at  him. — How  close  Vengeance  pursues  !  how  terribly 
she  presses  !  it  is  just  up  with  him  ! — Gods  !  what  a  crash 
they  make  ;  the  whole  wood  resounds  ! — That  turn  was 
very  short !  There  ! — now  ! — aye,  now  they  have  him  ! 
Who-hoop  ! 


118 


GODS!    WHAT    A    CRASH    THEY    MAKK." 


CHAPTER    VII 

'  NIMROD  ' 

MR.  APPERLEY,  whose  literary  name  was  '  Nimrod,' 
was  born  in  1777  and  died  in  1843.  He  was  at 
one  time  the  Squire  of  Beaurepaire  in  the  Vine 
Country,  adjoining  the  property  of  that  name  belonging  to 
Mr.  Chute,  but  owing  to  financial  trouble  he  took  to  the 
profession  of  writing  about  the  sport  that  he  loved.  He 
pursued  this  profession  with  much  industry  and  vigour, 
being  a  well-documented  and  painstaking  analyst  of  every- 
thing to  do  with  the  Chase.  From  the  point  of  view  of 
history  his  work  is  valuable,  and  if  he  had  contented 
himself  with  noting  and  chronicling  the  things  that  he 
saw  and  understood,  it  would  have  been  even  purer  and 
sounder  than  it  is.  But  although  there  is  nothing  super- 
ficial about  Mr.  Apperley's  work,  a  certain  pretentious- 
ness crops  up  every  now  and  then  which  would  be 
irritating  if  it  were  taken  seriously.  For  instance,  in  this 
very  paper,  he  is  kind  enough  to  patronise  the  sixth  Duke 
of  Beaufort  and  his  establishment  by  announcing  that  he 
*  did  not  consider  his  Grace  a  sportsman  of  the  very  first 
class' 1  There  are  some  indications,  which  will  be  re- 
ferred to  presently,  that  *  Nimrod  '  was  not  himself  in  the 
very  first  class  as  an  authority  on  the  huntsman's  craft 

1  Our  italics. 

119 


which  he  discusses  with  so  much  assurance.  But  the  not 
too  modest  tone  of  his  writings,  fortified  though  it  be  by 
a  lavish  use  of  the  first  personal  pronoun,  is  a  minor  blemish 
when  it  is  set  beside  the  masterly  manner  in  which  he  has 
illuminated  the  Sport  of  our  Ancestors.  For,  indeed,  when 
he  was  not  thinking  too  much  about  himself,  he  could  write 
well.  His  facility  was  inspired  by  his  genuine  love  of 
horses  and  Hounds,  and  enriched  by  his  acquaintance  with 
many  men  and  countries.  The  only  other  writer  in  the 
same  line  as  *  Nimrod'  is  '  The  Druid  '  the  author  of  gossipy 
volumes  such  as  'Post  and  Paddock,'  '  Scott  and  SebrightJ  and 
*  Saddle  and  Sirloin*  '  The  Druid '  had  certainly  amassed 
a  vast  amount  of  hunting  lore,  but  he  can  only  be  placed 
second,  longo  intervallo,  to  *  Nimrod.'  He  is  all  very  well 
as  a  reference,  but  he  could  not  have  written  a  classic  like 
'  The  Chace: 

For  it  is  indeed  a  classic.  In  the  small  space  of  a  few 
paragraphs  the  author  skilfully  traces  the  evolution  of  the 
Chase  from  the  fourteenth  century  down  to  a  meet  of 
the  Quorn  Hounds  at  Ashby  Pasture  in  February  1826. 
The  famous  amateur  huntsman,  Squire  Osbaldeston,  is  the 
central  figure.  The  impression  one  forms  of  *  The  Squire  ' 
is  that  of  a  hard-bitten,  varminty  little  North  Countryman 
who  liked  riding  better  than  hunting,  and  who  was  the 
darling  of  the  English  sporting  public  on  account  of  his 
being  ready  to  take  risks  and  to  back  himself  to  perform 
any  feat  of  nerve  or  endurance  connected  with  horses.  He 
was,  in  fact,  *  a  Sport.'  Not  the  vinous  eccentric  John 
120 


^Nimrod ' 

Mytton  sort  of  '  Sport,'  but  some  one  much  more  genuine, 
who  rode  fifty  four-mile  heats  in  less  than  ten  hours,  and 
hunted  his  own  hounds  in  the  Quorn  country  six  times  a 
week,  sometimes  having  two  packs  out  in  the  day.  Does 
the  fact  of  being  a  light-weight  add  to  the  popularity  of 
a  sportsman  ?  We  certainly  enjoy  to-day  the  privilege  of 
living  in  the  same  age  as  an  illustrious  example  of  a  light- 
weight sportsman  who  is  the  most  popular  man  in  the 
British  Empire.  Anyhow,  Osbaldeston  was  almost  the  only 
one  of  *  Nimrod's '  heroes  whom  the  author  did  not  try  to 
patronise  in  writing  about  him.  Mr.  Corbet  was  another. 
These  two  enjoy  the  distinction  of  receiving  from  '  Nimrod  * 
nothing  but  unqualified  admiration.  They  represent  two 
opposite  types  in  the  gallery  of  our  ancestors.  Mr.  Corbet, 
tall,  distinguished,  courteous,  an  aristocrat  and  a  Fox- 
hunter  to  his  finger-tips,  was  a  Hound  man  who  sate  on 
his  horse  like  a  gentleman  but  never  jumped  a  fence.  Mr. 
Osbaldeston,  small  of  stature,  excitable,  ready  of  tongue, 
was  a  horseman  rather  than  a  Hound  man,  and  never  stopped 
to  open  a  gate.  Each  had  a  famous  Foxhound  ;  Mr. 
Corbet's  Trojan,  and  Mr.  Osbaldeston's  Furrier.  But  it 
should  not  be  forgotten  that  Trojan,  by  Lord  Spencer's 
Trueboy,  was  bred  by  his  master,  while  Furrier,  though 
technically  Mr.  Osbaldeston 's  Furrier,  came  in  a  draft  from 
Belvoir,  being  by  their  Saladin.  Furrier  was  a  short, 
jumped-up  kind  of  dog  who  did  not  meet  you  very  cleverly 
on  the  flags.  It  was  said  that  his  being  crooked  was  due 
to  his  not  having  been  allowed  his  liberty  when  he  was  at 

121 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

walk.  But  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  would  not  win  at 
Peterborough  if  he  were  alive  now,  Furrier  was  an  un- 
deniable Foxhound,  and  his  name  appears  in  all  the  best 
modern  pedigrees. 

Mr.  Osbaldeston  was  delighted  with  Furrier.  Like 
master  like  Hound.  There  was  nothing  of  the  line-hunter 
about  either  of  them  :  if  '  Nimrod  '  correctly  describes  Mr. 
Osbaldeston,  he  was  a  bit  wild,  and  certainly  premature 
in  speaking  to  the  Hounds.  On  the  approach  to  the  covert, 

*  Nimrod  '  tells  us  that  he  cheered  them  in  cap  in  hand,  saying, 
4  Hark  in,  Hark  !  '  and  later  on  he  is  made  to  scream  with 
his  finger  to  his  ear  before  a  single  Hound  has  said  a  word. 
Now  of  three  things,  one :  either  the  method  here  adopted 
of  cheering  Hounds  before  they  open  was  the  fashion  in 
those    days  ;    or  Mr.   Osbaldeston  was   an   impostor  ;    or 

*  Nimrod  '  was  an  ignoramus.     It  is  impossible  to  believe  that 
to  cheer  Hounds  before  they  found  was  ever  the  fashion 
at  any  period  in  the  whole  history  of  the  Chase.    We  would 
wager  a  very  large  stake  that  neither  Will  Barrow  nor  Philip 
Payne  nor  any  of  the  great  contemporary  huntsmen  ever 
did  anything  of  the  kind.    Did  Mr.  Osbaldeston  do  it  ? 
Almost  certainly  not.    '  Nimrod '  then  is  the  culprit.    Here 
is    another    solecism.     While  the   Hounds    were    drawing, 
Rasselas   showed   himself  and   took   a   short   turn    in    the 
open.    Now  by  all  the  rules  of  Fox-hunting,  the  whipper-in 
should  have  kept  his  mouth  shut ;    any  noise  outside  pre- 
vents the  Fox  breaking  covert  and  distracts  the  attention 
of  the  Hounds   inside.     It  is   true   that  whippers-in  con- 

122 


*  Nimrod 5 

stantly  have  to  be  checked  for  rating  a  stray  Hound  at  these 
critical  moments :  but  such  a  pontiff  as  *  Nimrod '  makes 
himself  out  to  be  ought  to  have  known  all  this,  and  to 
have  known  that  unless  the  Fox  has  gone,  Hounds  who  fling 
outside  the  covert  will  invariably  turn  back  to  the  cry,  and 
that  to  holloa  at  them  is  an  offence.  Yet  '  Nimrod '  makes 
the  boy  crack  his  whip  and  rate  at  Rasselas  as  if  he  was 
running  a  hare.  But  this  is  not  all.  After  nineteen  quick 
minutes  the  Hounds  have  overrun  the  scent,  having  been 
pressed  too  hard  by  the  horses.  The  Squire  *  tells  off  *  his 
field  quite  correctly,  saying  they  had  themselves  to  thank 
for  the  delay,  and  then  proceeds  to  blow  his  horn  *  *  in  order  ' 
to  bring  them  back  to  the  point  at  which  the  scent  had 
failed.  *  Nimrod '  had  never,  as  far  as  we  know,  hunted 
Hounds  himself ;  but  any  one  who  has  hunted  Hounds  will 
tell  you  that  when  they  have  been  running  hard  and  sud- 
denly throw  up  is  the  very  moment  when  absolute  silence 
is  the  only  thing  that  can  retrieve  the  situation.  But  to  blow 
the  horn  and  get  their  heads  up  !  '  Nimrod  '  says  that  Mr. 
Osbaldeston's  Hounds  came  back  at  one  blast.  If  they  did, 
they  cannot  have  had  much  courage. 

When  a  highly-bred  pack  of  Foxhounds  have  been  run- 
ning full  cry  for  nineteen  minutes  and  come  to  a  check, 
the  first  thing  they  do  is  to  quarter  the  ground  and  fling 
themselves  this  way  and  that,  all  with  heads  down,  and 
some  with  hackles  up,  to  recover  the  scent.  There  is  nothing 
more  beautiful  and  wonderful  than  this  in  the  whole  of 

1  Our  italics. 

123 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

Fox-hunting.  Any  mere  human  being  in  a  red  coat  who 
tries  to  correct  animal  instinct  at  sublime  moments  like 
these,  by  making  a  noise  on  a  copper  instrument,  is  at 
once  a  Philistine  and  a  fool — a  Philistine  to  try  his  hand 
on  what  nature  is  doing  for  him  so  much  more  artistically 
than  he  can  do  it  for  himself ;  a  fool  because  no  good  pack 
of  Foxhounds  would  take  the  slightest  notice  of  him  if  it 
were  anything  like  a  scenting  day.  Major  Whyte  Melville  in 
*  Riding  Recollections '  is  in  the  same  kind  of  bad  hurry  with 
Sir  Richard  Sutton's  Hounds.  They  had  been  running 
for  thirty  minutes  when  up  went  their  heads.  Sir  Richard 
is  made  to  shout  at  Ben  Morgan  to  *  turn  them/  Ben 
Morgan  rides  a  half-beaten  horse  at  a  double  flight  of  posts 
and  rails  with  a  ditch  in  the  middle  and  one  on  each  side, 
with  the  result  that  may  be  imagined.  But  to  show  how 
unnecessary  was  all  this  expenditure  of  tissue,  Tranby  spoke 
to  his  Fox  before  Morgan  had  time  to  pick  up  the  pieces  ! 

Mr.  Osbaldeston's  second-horse  man  must  have  been 
a  wonderful  man.  This  fine  run  was  a  ten-mile  point 
accomplished  in  two  minutes  over  the  hour.  It  takes  some 
swallowing  ;  but  the  thing  could  only  be  done  at  some- 
thing like  top  speed  all  the  way.  Yet  Mr.  Osbaldeston 
contrived  to  change  horses  at  the  right  moment,  and 
to  appear  on  Clasher  when  Ashton  was  getting  blown. 
How  did  the  second-horse  man  get  there  ?  Not  by  riding 
to  points,  for  according  to  time  and  distance  the  line  from 
Ashby  Pasture  to  Woodwell  Head  must  have  been  nearly 
straight.  He  can  only  have  done  the  deed  by  riding  fence 
124 


^Nimrod ' 

for  fence  after  his  master.  This  was  the  fashion  for  the 
second-horse  man  of  a  heavy-weight  when  the  second-horse 
system  was  first  introduced.  But  when  the  master  was 
himself  a  light-weight  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by 
it.  But  we  must  not  be  captious  in  attempting  to  review 
1  Nimrod's  '  essay.  It  is  admitted  to  be  one  of  the  best, 
if  not  the  very  best,  of  descriptions  of  a  run  from  the 
riding  point  of  view,  just  as  Beckford's  chapter  is  the  best 
description  extant  of  a  run  from  the  point  of  view  of 
the  Hound  man. 

His  famous  chapter  on  *  The  Road  '  is  the  only  extract 
in  this  book  which  has  no  direct  reference  to  Fox-hunting. 
But  it  is  so  vitally  interesting  in  letting  us  see  the  conditions 
under  which  our  ancestors  travelled  from  place  to  place, 
that  it  is  here  inserted ;  moreover,  at  this  time  of  day 
anything  that  recalls  the  charm  of  driving  behind  quick- 
stepping  horses  is  surely  worth  preserving.  This  charm 
had  warmed  even  the  rugged  heart  of  Dr.  Johnson.  On 
driving  away  from  a  visit  to  Lord  Scarsdale  at  Kedleston, 
the  old  man — he  was  then  sixty-eight — felt  a  rush  of  gaiety, 
and  exclaimed  to  Boswell  :  *  If  I  had  no  duties,  and  no 
reference  to  futurity,  I  would  spend  my  life  in  driving 
briskly  in  a  post-chaise  with  a  pretty  woman  ;  but  she 
should  be  one  who  could  understand  me,  and  would  add 
something  to  the  conversation.'  No  one  who  is  not  grossly 
unsusceptible  would  after  reading  this  take  a  lady  out  in 
a  motor-car  without  wishing  that  some  fairy  could  change 
it  into  a  phaeton  drawn  by  two  well-bred  horses.  But 

125 


this  chapter  is  not  reprinted  with  the  sole  object  of  recalling 
the  ancient  charm  of  '  The  Road.'  It  is  of  peculiar  interest 
to-day  because,  since  the  automobile  was  invented,  the 
old  turnpikes  have  in  a  sense  come  into  their  own  again, 
and  carry  on  their  surface  in  motor-cars  the  descendants 
of  those  who  used  the  same  routes  in  their  travelling 
carriages,  post-chaises,  and  road  coaches.  The  talk  of 
the  traveller  to-day  in  the  lounges  of  provincial  hotels  is 
curiously  like  what  it  must  have  been  a  hundred  years 
ago.  The  state  of  the  roads,  the  relative  merits  of  the 
wayside  inns,  the  condition  of  the  carriages,  the  best  routes 
by  which  to  avoid  the  traffic :  these  are  the  topics  now 
common  alike  to  us  and  to  our  ancestors,  having  been  in 
abeyance  during  the  years  when  the  railroad  was  the  sole 
method  of  long-distance  transport.  In  view  of  its  history 
the  revival  of  the  road  is  full  of  interest.  Not  the  least 
startling  thing  is  the  comparatively  small  difference  between 
the  continuous  average  speed  of  the  motor-car  and  that  of 
the  fast  road  coach.  One  would  hardly  believe  that  the 
motor-car  only  performs  a  long  journey  twice  as  fast  as 
the  old  mails.  Yet  it  is  so.  A  motor-car,  making  allowance 
for  delay  by  the  traffic  and  other  hindrances,  cannot  sus- 
tain an  average  pace  over  a  long  journey — say  from  London 
to  Edinburgh — of  more  than  twenty  miles  an  hour.  The 
distance  is  four  hundred  miles,  and  this  was  covered  by 
the  old  Edinburgh  Mail  at  the  rate  of  eleven  miles  an  hour, 
stoppages  included.  These  stoppages  allowed  for  changing 
horses,  as  well  as  one  hour  for  meals,  of  which  twenty 
126 


^Nimrod 5 

minutes  were  usually  allocated  to  breakfast  and  forty  minutes 
to  luncheon.  The  operation  of  changing  horses  was  accom- 
plished in  less  than  a  minute.  Wonderful  work !  No 
chain,  buckle,  trace,  or  rein  was  ever  handled  twice.  One 
of  the  most  memorable  feats  on  the  Road  took  place  during 
the  coaching  revival,  some  forty  years  after  the  railroads 
were  started.  Over  twelve  miles  an  hour  was  the  pace 
sustained  when  Jim  Selby  drove  from  London  to  Brighton 
and  back,  covering  the  whole  distance  of  a  hundred  miles 
in  seven  hours  and  fifty  minutes.  This  achievement  in 
the  annals  of  the  Road  finds  its  counterpart  in  the  annals 
of  the  Chase  in  the  match  between  Mr.  Smith-Barry's  Blue- 
cap  and  Wanton  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  a  couple  of 
Hounds  belonging  to  Mr.  Meynell,  over  the  Beacon  Course 
at  Newmarket,  a  distance  of  four  and  a  half  miles,  which 
Bluecap  covered  at  a  rate  of  over  twenty-four  miles  an  hour. 
Wanton,  sired  by  Bluecap,  came  in  second ;  Mr.  Meynell's 
Hounds  were  nowhere.  These  two  events  are  the  out- 
standing records  of  speed  in  the  history  of  The  Chase  and 
The  Road. 

The  road  coaches  had  just  about  reached  perfection 
when  they  were  supplanted  by  the  railroads,  at  a  time 
when  the  service  of  the  best  of  them  was  as  perfect  as 
human  skill  could  make  it.  The  coachmen,  the  guards, 
and  the  ostlers  all  provided  highly-skilled  labour,  and  took 
a  pride  in  their  work.  The  coaches  and  the  tackle  were 
the  best  that  the  world  has  ever  produced  It  is  true  that 
the  horses  did  not  cost  much  money,  but  no  amount  of 

127 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

money  could  have  produced  more  than  an  average  of  eleven 
miles  an  hour,  and  it  is  certain  that  the  proprietors  knew 
their  business.  *  Nimrod '  says  that  the  average  life  of  a  horse 
in  a  fast  road  coach  was  four  years,  exactly  the  same  period 
that  was  reckoned  to  be  the  average  life  of  the  London 
omnibus  horse. 

Every  line  of  *  Nimrod 's '  paper  on  *  The  Road  *  is  excellent 
reading.  With  eloquence  based  on  knowledge  he  treats  of 
an  art  which  is  not  only  fascinating  in  itself,  but  particularly 
agreeable  to  the  genius  of  the  English  people.  No  other 
nation  has  ever  been  able  to  couple  horses  together,  harness 
them  to  a  carriage,  and  drive  them  when  harnessed  with 
the  same  ease,  neatness,  and  precision  as  was  displayed  by 
our  own  artists  in  the  twenties  and  the  thirties.  The  exercise 
of  their  art  was  interrupted  by  the  steam-engine,  but  it 
was  revived  for  amateurs  under  the  auspices  of  the  old 
survivors  of  the  Road.  Yet  it  is  strange  that,  in  a  country 
which  has  produced  the  best  coachmen  the  world  has  ever 
seen,  the  vast  majority  of  amateurs  never  really  knew  how  to 
drive,  though  they  were  continually  driving,  and  more  often 
than  not  got  to  the  end  of  the  journey  without  an  accident. 
Before  the  invention  of  motor-cars,  when  every  one  who 
could  afford  it  kept  his  or  her  own  carriage  and  drove  his 
or  her  own  horses,  how  many  people  knew  enough  to  sit 
straight  on  the  box  seat  and  to  hold  the  whip  and  reins 
properly  ?  No  one  can  drive  in  good  style  by  the  light  of 
nature.  He  must  have  been  taught  the  technique  by  a 
real  coachman.  The  difference  between  those  who  have 
128 


^Nimrod 5 

been  taught  to  drive  properly  and  those  who  have  not  is 
easily  detected  by  the  initiated.  Here  are  two  tests  :  When 
you  are  meeting  any  one  who  is  driving  one  or  more  horses, 
look  at  his  hands  ;  if  he  knows  how  to  drive,  you  will  only 
see  their  backs.  The  other  test  is  to  mark  what  he  does 
with  his  whip  when  he  puts  it  down  as  his  carriage  is  in 
motion.  If  he  puts  the  butt  end  on  the  footboard  and 
leans  the  other  on  the  back  of  the  seat,  he  is  a  coachman  ; 
if  he  sticks  it  into  the  socket  when  he  has  no  further  use 
for  it,  he  is  a  tailor.  The  man  who  rests  it  on  the  footboard 
has  probably  learnt  to  do  so  from  driving  a  coach,  when  to 
put  the  whip  into  the  socket  is  to  invite  disaster  from  the 
trees.  The  whip  should  never  be  put  in  the  socket  except 
when  the  coach  or  carriage  is  standing  still.  But  it  is  of  no 
avail  to  go  into  all  this  now,  though  we  may  now  and  again 
read  through  *  Nimrod's '  chapter  and  try  to  wonder  what 
it  was  like  to  leave  Shrewsbury  on  the  top  of  a  coach  at 
six  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  not  get  to  London  till  nine 
o'clock  at  night. 


THE   CHACE 

'  Listening  how  the  hounds  and  horn 
Cheerly  rouse  the  slumbering  morn, 
From  the  side  of  some  hoar  hill 
Thro'  the  high  wood  echoing  shrill.' — MILTON. 

In  various  old  writers — *  The  Mayster  of  the  Game*  for 
instance — we   find   lively  pictures   of  the   ancient   English 
chace,  which  in  many  respects,  no  doubt,  was  of  a  more 
I  129 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

noble  and  manly  nature  than  that  of  the  present  day.  The 
wolf,  the  bear,  the  boar,  were  among  the  favourite  beasts 
of  *  venery  ' ;  and  none  can  doubt  that  the  habit  of  pursuing 
such  animals,  independently  of  giving  vigour  to  the  frame 
and  strength  to  the  constitution,  must  have  nourished  that 
martial  ardour  and  fearless  intrepidity,  which,  when  exerted 
in  the  field  of  battle,  generally  won  the  day  for  our  gallant 
ancestors.  The  hart,  the  stag,  the  hind,  the  roebuck,  and 
the  hare  are  likewise  constantly  mentioned,  as  is  also  the 
wild  or  martin  cat,  now  nearly  extinct ;  but  the  fox  does 
not  appear  to  have  been  included  in  the  list  of  the  Anglo- 
Norman  sportsman.  The  first  public  notice  of  this  now 
much-esteemed  animal  occurs  in  the  reign  of  Richard  n., 
which  unfortunate  monarch  gives  permission,  by  charter, 
to  the  abbot  of  Peterborough  to  hunt  the  fox.  In  Twice 's 
*  Treatise  on  the  Craft  of  Hunting  '  Reynard  is  thus  classed  : — 

'  And  for  to  sette  young  hunterys  in  the  way 
To  venery,  I  cast  me  fyrst  to  go  : 
Of  which  four  bestes  be,  that  is  to  say, 
The  hare,  the  herte,  the  wulf,  and  the  wild  boor. 
But  there  ben  other  bestes  five  of  the  chase  ; 
The  buck  the  first,  the  seconde  is  the  do  ; 
The  fox  the  third,  which  hath  ever  hard  grace  ; 
The  forthe  the  martyn,  and  the  last  the  roe.' 

It  is  indeed  quite  apparent  that,  until  at  most  a  hundred 
and  fifty  years  ago,  the  fox  was  considered  an  inferior 
animalfof  the  chace — the  stag,  buck,  and  even  hare  ranking 
before  him.  Previously  to  this  period,  he  was  generally 
taken  in  nets  or  hays,  set  on  the  outside  of  his  earth  :  when 
130 


LISTENING  now  THK  HOUNUS  AND  HORN. 


'Nimrod ' 

he  was1  hunted,  it  was  among  rocks  and  crags,  or  woods 
inaccessible  to  horsemen  ;  such  a  scene,  in  short,  or  very 
nearly  so,  as  we  have,  drawn  to  the  life,  in  Dandie  Dinmont's 
primitive  chasse  in  *  Guy  Mannering*  If  the  reader  will  turn 
to  the  author  of  Hudibras's  essay,  entitled  *  Of  the  Bumpkin, 
or  Country  Squire,'  he  will  find  a  great  deal  about  the  hare, 
but  not  one  word  of  the  fox.  What  a  revolution  had  occurred 
before  Squire  Western  sat  for  his  picture  !  About  half- 
way between  these  pieces  appeared  Somervile's  poem  of 
*  The  Chase, y  in  which  fox-hunting  is  treated  of  with  less 
of  detail,  and  much  less  of  enthusiasm,  than  either  stag- 
hunting  or  hare-hunting  \ 

It  is  difficult  to  determine  when  the  first  regularly  ap- 
pointed pack  of  foxhounds  appeared  among  us.  Dan 
Chaucer  gives  us  the  thing  in  embryo  : — 

'  Aha,  the  fox  !  and  after  him  they  ran  ; 
And  eke  with  staves  many  another  man. 
Ran  Coll  our  dogge,  and  Talbot,  and  Gerlond, 
And  Malkin  with  her  distaff  in  her  bond, 
Ran  cow  and  calf,  and  eke  the  veray  hogges, 
So  fered  were  for  berking  of  the  dogges, 
And  shouting  of  the  men  and  women  eke, 
They  ronnen  so,  hem  thought  her  hertes  brake/ 

At  the  next  stage,  no  doubt,  neighbouring  farmers  kept 
one  or  two  hounds  each,  and,  on  stated  days,  met  for  the 
purpose  of  destroying  a  fox  that  had  been  doing  damage  in 
their  poultry-yards.  By-and-by  a  few  couple  of  strong 
hounds  seem  to  have  been  kept  by  small  country  esquires, 
1  The  words  in  italics  are  in  italics  in  the  original. 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

or  yeomen,  who  could  afford  the  expense,  and  they  joined 
packs.  Such  were  called  trencher  hounds — implying  that 
they  ran  loose  about  the  house,  and  were  not  confined  in 
kennel.  Of  their  breed  it  would  be  difficult  to  speak  at 
this  distance  of  time  ;  but  it  is  conjectured  that  they  re- 
sembled the  large  broken-haired  harriers  now  to  be  met 
with  in  the  mountainous  parts  of  Wales,  which,  on  good 
scenting  days,  are  nearly  a  match  for  anything  by  their 
perseverance  and  nose.  Slow  and  gradual  must  have  been 
the  transition  to  the  present  elaborate  system  ;  but  let  us 
wave  the  minutiae  of  sporting  antiquarianship.1 

In  no  one  instance  has  the  modern  varied  from  the 
ancient  system  of  hunting  more  than  in  the  hour  of  meeting 
in  the  morning.  With  our  forefathers,  when  the  roost  cock 
sounded  his  clarion,  they  sounded  their  horn  ;  throwing 
off  the  pack  so  soon  as  they  could  distinguish  a  stile  from  a 
gate,  or,  in  other  words,  so  soon  as  they  could  see  to  ride 
to  the  hounds.  Then  it  was  that  the  hare  was  hunted  to 
her  form  by  the  trail,  and  the  fox  to  his  kennel  by  the  drag. 

1  In  a  letter,  dated  February  1833,  from  the  late  Lord  Arundel  to  the 
author  of  these  papers,  is  the  following  interesting  passage  to  sportsmen  : — 
'  A  pack  of  foxhounds  were  kept  by  my  ancestor,  Lord  Arundel,  between  the 
years  1690  and  1700  ;  and  I  have  memoranda  to  prove  that  they  occasion- 
ally hunted  from  Wardover  Castle,  in  Wiltshire,  and  at  Brimmer,  in  Hants, 
now  Sir  Edward  Halse's,  but  then  the  occasional  residence  of  Lord  Arundel. 
These  hounds  were  kept  by  my  family  until  about  the  year  1745,  when  the 
sixth  Lord  Arundel  died,  when  they  were  kept  by  his  nephew,  the  Earl  of 
Castle-Haven,  until  the  death  of  the  last  Earl  of  that  name,  about  the  year 
1782.  The  pack  were  then  sold  to  the  celebrated  Hugo  Meynell,  Esq.,  of 
Quorndon  Hall,  Leicestershire  ;  and  hence  it  is  possible  they  may  have,  in 
part,  contributed  to  the  establishment  of  that  gentleman's  fox-hunting 
fame.' 

132 


'Nimrod ' 

Slow  as  this  system  would  now  be  deemed,  it  was  a  grand 
treat  to  the  real  sportsman.    What,  in  the  language  of  the 
chace,  is  called  *  the  tender-nosed  hound  '  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  displaying  himself  to  the  inexpressible  delight  of 
his  master  ;   and  to  the  field — that  is,  to  the  sportsmen  who 
joined  in  the  diversion — the  pleasures  of  the  day  were  en- 
hanced by  the  moments  of  anticipation  produced  by  the 
drag.    As  the  scent  grew  warmer,  the  certainty  of  finding 
was  confirmed  ;    the  music  of  the  pack  increased  ;    and, 
the  game  being  up,  away  went  the  hounds  '  in  a  crash.' 
Both  trail  and  drag  are  at  present  but  little  thought  of  ; 
hounds  merely  draw  over  ground  most  likely  to  hold  the 
game  they  are  in  quest  of,  and  thus,  in  a  great  measure, 
rely  upon  chance  for  coming  across  it  ;    for  if  a  challenge 
be  heard,  it  can  only  be  inferred  that  a  fox  has  been  on 
foot   in   the   night  —  the  scent  being  seldom  sufficient   to 
enable  the  hound  to  carry  it  up  to  his  kennel.    Advantages, 
however,  as  far  as  sport  is  concerned,  attend  the  present 
hour  of  meeting  in  the  field.     Independently  of  the  misery 
of  riding  many  miles  in  the  dark,  which  sportsmen  of  the 
early  part  of  the  last  century  were  obliged  to  do,  the  game, 
when  it  is  now  aroused,  is  in  a  better  state  to  encounter  the 
great  speed  of  modern  hounds,  having  had  time  to  digest 
the  food  which  it  has  partaken  of  in  the  night,  previously 
to  its  being  stirred.     But  it  is  only  since  the  great  increase 
of  hares  and  foxes  that  the  aid  of  the  trail  and  drag  could 
be  dispensed  with,  without  the  frequent  recurrence  of  blank 
days,  which  now  seldom  happen. 

133 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

Compared  with  the  luxurious  ease  with  which  the 
modern  sportsman  is  conveyed  to  the  field — either  lolling 
in  his  chaise  -  and  -  four  or  galloping  along  at  the  Jrate  of 
twenty  miles  an  hour  on  a  hundred-guinea  hack — the  situa- 
tion of  his  predecessor  was  all  but  distressing.  In  propor- 
tion to  the  distance  he  had  to  ride  by  starlight  were  his  hours 
of  rest  broken  in  upon  ;  and,  exclusive  of  the  time  which 
that  operation  might  consume,  another  serious  one  was  to 
be  provided  for — this  was,  the  filling  his  hair  with  powder 
and  pomatum  until  it  could  hold  no  more,  and  forming  it 
into  a  well-turned  knot,  or  club,  as  it  was  called,  by  his 
valet,  which  cost  commonly  a  good  hour's  work.  The 
protecting  mud-boot,  the  cantering  hack,  the  second  horse 
in  the  field,  were  luxuries  unknown  to  him  ;  and  his  well- 
soiled  buckskins  and  brown-topped  boots  would  have  cut 
an  indifferent  figure  in  the  presence  of  a  modern  connoisseur 
by  a  Leicestershire  cover-side.  Notwithstanding  all  this, 
however,  we  are  inclined  strongly  to  suspect  that,  out  of  a 
given  number  of  gentlemen  taking  the  field  with  hounds, 
the  proportion  of  really  scientific  sportsmen  may  have 
been  in  favour  of  the  olden  times. 

In  the  horse  called  the  hunter  a  still  greater  change 
has  taken  place.  The  half-bred  horse  of  the  early  part 
of  the  last  century  was,  when  highly  broken  to  his  work, 
a  delightful  animal  to  ride  ;  in  many  respects  more  accom- 
plished, as  a  hunter,  than  the  generality  of  those  of  the 
present  day.  When  in  his  best  form,  he  was  a  truly- 
shaped  and  powerful  animal,  possessing  prodigious  strength, 

134 


^Nimrod ' 

with  a  fine  commanding  frame,  considerable  length  of 
neck,  a  slight  curve  in  his  crest,  which  was  always  high 
and  firm,  and  the  head  beautifully  put  on.  Possessing 
these  advantages,  in  addition  to  the  very  great  pains  taken 
with  his  mouth  in  the  bitting,  and  an  excellent  education 
in  the  school  or  at  the  bar,  he  was  what  is  termed  a 
complete  snaffle-bridle  horse,  and  a  standing  as  well  as  a 
flying  leaper.  Held  well  in  hand — his  rider  standing  up  in 
the  stirrups,  holding  him  fast  by  the  head,  making  the  best 
of,  and  being  able,  from  the  comparatively  slow  rate  at 
which  hounds  then  travelled,  to  pick  or  choose  his  ground 
—such  a  horse  would  continue  a  chace  of  some  hours* 
duration  at  the  pace  he  was  called  upon  to  go,  taking  his 
fences  well  and  safely  to  the  last ;  and  he  would  frequently 
command  the  then  large  sum  of  one  hundred  guineas.  But 
all  these  accomplishments  would  never  have  enabled  a 
horse  of  this  description  to  carry  the  modern  sportsman, 
who  rides  well  up  to  hounds,  on  a  good  scenting  day,  over 
one  of  our  best  hunting  countries.  His  strength  would 
be  exhausted  before  he  had  gone  ten  minutes,  by  the  in- 
creased pace  at  which  he  would  now  be  called  upon  to 
travel,  but  to  which  his  breeding  would  be  quite  unequal  ; 
and  his  true  symmetry,  his  perfect  fencing,  his  fine  mouth, 
and  all  his  other  points,  would  prove  of  very  little  avail.  If 
ridden  close  to  the  hounds,  he  would  be  powerless  and 
dangerous  before  he  had  gone  across  half  a  dozen  Leicester- 
shire enclosures. 

The  increased  pace  of  hounds,  and  that  of  the  horses 

135 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

that  follow  them,  have  an  intimate  connection  with  each 
other,  if  not  with  the  march  of  intellect.  Were  not  the 
hounds  of  our  day  to  go  so  fast  as  they  do,  they  would  not 
be  able  to  keep  clear  of  the  crowd  of  riders  who  are  now 
mounted  on  horses  nearly  equal  to  the  racing  pace.  On  the 
other  hand,  as  the  speed  of  hounds  has  so  much  increased, 
unless  their  followers  ride  speedy,  and,  for  the  most  part, 
thorough-bred  horses,  they  cannot  see  out  a  run  of  any 
continuance  if  the  scent  lies  well.  True  it  is  that,  at  the 
present  time,  every  Leicestershire  hunter  is  not  thorough- 
bred ;  but  what  is  termed  the  cock-tail,  or  half-bred  horse 
of  this  day,  is  a  very  different  animal  from  that  of  a  hundred 
years  back.  In  those  days  a  cross  between  the  thorough- 
bred, or  perhaps  not  quite  thorough-bred^  horse  and  the 
common  draught-mare  was  considered  good  enough  to 
produce  hunters  equal  to  the  speed  of  the  hounds  then  used. 
There  was  not  such  an  abundance  of  what  may  be  termed 
.the  intermediate  variety  of  the  horse  in  the  country—-*  pretty 
well-bred  on  each  side  the  head  ' — which  has  of  late  years 
been  in  demand  for  the  fast  coaches  of  England,  in  which 
low-bred  horses  have  no  chance  to  live.  Mares  of  this 
variety,  put  to  thorough-bred  stallions,  and  their  produce 
crossed  with  pure  blood,  create  the  sort  of  animal  that  comes 
now  under  the  denomination  of  the  half-bred  English 
hunter,  or  cock-tail.  These  are  also  the  horses  which 
contend  for  our  several  valuable  stakes,  made  for  horses 
not  thorough-bred,  though,  when  brought  to  the  post,  they 
are  sometimes  so  much  like  race-horses  in  their  appearance 
136 


^Nimrod ' 

and  their  pace,  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  detect  the  blot 
in  their  pedigree.  A  prejudice  long  existed  against  thorough- 
bred horses  for  the  field,  particularly  such  as  had  once  been 
trained  to  the  course  ;  and  in  some  quarters  it  still  lingers. 
It  is  argued  by  their  opponents  that  the  thinness  of  their 
skins  makes  them  afraid  of  rough  blackthorn  fences,  and 
that  they  lose  their  speed  in  soft,  or  what,  in  sporting 
language,  is  termed  deep  ground  ;  also,  that  having  been 
accustomed  from  their  infancy  to  the  jockey's  hand,  they 
lean  upon  their  bits,  as  when  in  a  race,  and  are  therefore 
unpleasant  to  ride.  Such  of  them  as  have  been  long  in 
training  may  undoubtedly  be  subject  to  these  objections, 
and  never  become  good  and  pleasant  hunters  ;  but  when 
purchased  young,  and  possessing  strength  and  bone,  they 
must  have  many  counterbalancing  advantages  over  the 
inferior-bred  horse.  So  far  from  not  making  good  leapers, 
the  firmness  of  bone  and  muscle  peculiar  to  this  variety  of 
the  breed  is  prodigiously  in  favour  of  that  desirable  quali- 
fication. Indeed,  it  has  been  truly  said  of  them,  that  they 
can  often  leap  large  fences  when  lower-bred  horses  cannot 
leap  smaller  ones — the  result  of  their  superior  wind  when 
put  to  a  quick  pace. 

Whoever  wishes  to  see  two  distinct  species  of  the  horse 
in  the  most  perfect  state,  should  go  to  Newmarket  and 
Melton  Mowbray — to  the  former  for  the  race-horse,  to  the 
latter  for  the  hunter.  In  no  place  upon  the  earth  is  con- 
dition attended  to  with  so  much  care,  or  managed  with  such 
skill,  as  in  this  renowned  metropolis  of  the  fox-hunting 

137 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

world.  Indeed,  we  conceive  it  would  be  useless  to  expect 
horses  to  live  with  hounds  in  such  a  country  as  Leicestershire, 
unless  they  were  in  condition  to  enable  them  to  contend 
for  a  plate. 

Melton  Mowbray  generally  contains  from  two  to  three 
hundred  hunters  in  the  hands  of  the  most  experienced 
grooms  England  can  produce — the  average  number  being 
ten  to  each  sportsman  residing  there,  although  some  of  those 
who  ride  heavy,  and  rejoice  in  long  purses,  have  from 
fourteen  to  twenty  for  their  own  use  ;  the  stud  of  the  Earl 
of  Plymouth  for  many  years  exceeded  the  last-mentioned 
number.  It  may  seem  strange,  that  one  man  should,  under 
any  circumstances,  need  so  large  a  number  of  horses  solely 
for  his  personal  use  in  the  field  ;  and  it  must  be  admitted 
that  few  countries  do  require  it.  In  Leicestershire,  how- 
ever, the  universal  practice  is  for  each  sportsman  to  have 
at  least  two  hunters  in  the  field  on  the  same  day — a  practice 
found  to  be  economical,  as  it  is  from  exhaustion,  the  effect 
of  long-continued  severe  work,  that  the  health  of  horses  is 
most  injured.  And  when  it  is  also  borne  in  mind  that 
hounds  are  to  be  reached  from  Melton,  Leicester,  etc., 
every  day  in  the  week — that  one  horse  out  of  six  in  every 
man's  stud  is,  upon  an  average,  lame,  or  otherwise  unfit  for 
work — and  that  a  horse  should  always  have  five  days'  rest 
after  a  moderate,  and  at  least  seven  or  eight  after  a  severe, 
run  with  hounds — it  will  not  seem  surprising  that  ten  or 
twelve  hunters  should  be  deemed  an  indispensable  stud  for 
a  regular  Leicestershire  sportsman. 

138 


'Nimrod ' 

The  stables  and  other  conveniences  for  hunters  in  the 
town  and  neighbourhood  are  upon  a  very  superior  scale, 
and  the  greater  part  of  the  studs  remain  there  all  the  year 
round ;  though,  from  the  comparatively  small  quantity  of 
arable  land  in  the  county  of  Leicester,  and  the  very  great 
demand  for  forage,  oats  and  hay  are  always  considerably 
dearer  here  than  at  any  other  place  in  England.  The  sum- 
total  of  expenses  attending  a  stud  of  twelve  hunters  at 
Melton,  including  every  outgoing,  is,  as  nearly  as  can  be 
estimated,  one  thousand  pounds  per  annum.  In  all  stables, 
the  average  outlay  for  the  purchase  of  horses  is  great, — 
at  least  two  hundred  guineas  each  hunter  ;  and,  in  some, 
the  annual  amount  of  wear  and  tear  of  horse-flesh  is 
considerable. 

At  no  distant  date — within  at  most  thirty  years — Melton 
Mowbray  was  an  insignificant-looking  little  town.  It  is 
prettily  situated  in  a  rich  vale,  through  which  the  river 
Stoure  passes,  but  had  nothing  an  artist  would  have  called 
a  feature  about  it,  except  its  beautiful  church.  But  of  late 
it  has  put  on  a  very  different  appearance  owing  to  the 
numbers  of  comfortable  houses  which  have  been  erected 
for  the  accommodation  of  its  sporting  visitors,  who  now 
spend  not  less,  on  an  average,  than  fifty  thousand  pounds 
per  annum  on  the  spot.  It  stands  on  one  of  the  great 
north  roads,  eighteen  miles  from  Nottingham,  and  fifteen 
from  Leicester  ;  which  latter  place  is  also  become  a  favourite 
resort  of  sportsmen,  as  it  is  well  situated  for  the  best  part 
of  the  Quorn,  and  Lord  Lonsdale's  countries,  and  many 

139 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

of  the  favourite  covers  of  the  Atherstone  (lately  better  known 
as  Lord  Anson's)  country,  can  be  reached  from  it. 

The  following  description  of  the  Old  Club  at  Melton 
Mowbray,  so  called  in  contradistinction  to  the  New  Club, 
some  time  since  broken  up,  is  given  in  one  of  *  Nimrod's ' 
letters  in  the  *  Old  Sporting  Magazine,'  about  ten  years  back : — 

'  The  grand  feature  at  Melton  Mowbray  is  the  Old  Club,  which 
has  been  established  about  thirty-eight  years,  and  owes  its  birth  to 
the  following  circumstances  : — Those  distinguished  sportsmen,  the 
late  Lord  Forester  and  Lord  Delamere  (then  Messrs.  Forester  and 
Cholmondeley),  had  been  living  for  some  years  at  Loughborough 
for  the  purpose  of  hunting  with  Mr.  Meynell,  and  removed  thence 
into  Melton,  where  they  took  a  house,  and  were  joined  by  the  late 
Mr.  Smythe  Owen,  of  Condover  Hall,  Shropshire.  As  this  house, 
now  known  as  the  Old  Club  House,  only  contains  four  best  bed- 
rooms, its  members  are  restricted  to  that  number.  But  the  follow- 
ing sportsmen  have,  at  different  periods,  belonged  to  the  club  :— 
The  Hon.  George  Germaine  ;  Lords  Alvanley  and  Brudenel ;  the 
Hon.  Joshua  Vanneck,  now  Lord  Huntingfield  ;  the  Hon.  Berkeley 
Craven ;  the  late  Sir  Robert  Leighton  ;  the  late  Mr.  Meyler ; 
Messrs.  Brommell,  Vansittart,  Thomas  Assheton  Smith,  Lindow, 
Langston,  Maxse,  Maher,  Moore,  Sir  James  Musgrave,  and  the 
present  Lord  Forester — the  four  last-named  gentlemen  forming 
the  present  club.  There  is  something  highly  respectable  in  every- 
thing connected  with  the  Melton  Old  Club.  Not  only  is  some  of 
the  best  society  in  England  to  be  met  with  in  their  circle,  but  the 
members  have  been  remarkable  for  living  together  on  terms  of 
the  strictest  harmony  and  friendship  ;  and  a  sort  of  veneration 
has  been  paid  by  them  to  the  recollection  of  the  former  members, 
as  the  following  anecdotes  will  prove  : — The  same  plate  is  now  in 
use  which  was  purchased  when  the  club  was  established  (for  there 
are  none  of  the  certamina  divitiarum — no  ostentatious  displays  at 
the  table  of  the  Old  Club,  though  everything  is  as  good,  of  its  kind, 

140 


as  a  first-rate  cook  can  produce,  and  the  wines  are  of  the  best  quality), 
and  even  trifles  are  regarded  with  a  scrupulous  observance.  A  small 
print  of  the  late  Samuel  ChhTney,  on  "  Baronet,"  l  was  placed  against 
the  wall  by  the  Hon.  George  Germaine,  so  distinguished  as  a  most 
excellent  sportsman,  as  well  as  a  rider  over  a  country  or  a  race- 
course— in  the  latter  accomplishment  perhaps  scarcely  excelled  by 
any  gentleman  jockey  ;  and  although,  since  it  was  first  affixed, 
the  room  has  undergone  more  than  one  papering  and  repairing,  yet 
the  same  print,  in  the  same  frame,  and  on  the  same  nail,  still  hangs 
in  the  same  place. 

"  The  rivets  were  not  found  that  joined  us  first, 
That  do  not  reach  us  yet ; — we  were  so  mixed, 
We  were  one  mass,  we  could  not  give  or  take 
But  from  the  same,  for  he  was  I — I  he." 

There  have  lately  sprung  up  two  junior  clubs  at  Melton. 
The  one  called  the  New  Club,  occupying  the  house  formerly 
the  residence  of  Lord  Alvanley,  opposite  that  excellent  inn 
called  the  George  Hotel,  is  composed  of  the  following 
eminent  sportsmen  : — Mr.  Errington,  the  master  of  the 
hounds  ;  Count  Matuchevitch,  Mr.  Massey  Stanley,  and 
Mr.  Lyne  Stevens.  The  other,  at  the  house  of  the  late 
Sir  Harry  Goodricke,  is  known  as  *  Lord  Rokeby's  Club/ 
and  consists  of  Lords  Rokeby  and  Eglinton,  Sir  Frederick 
Johnson,  and  Mr.  Little  Gilmour.  The  uninitiated  reader 
would,  perhaps,  be  surprised  by  an  enumeration  of  the 
persons  of  rank,  wealth,  and  fashion,  who,  during  months 
of  every  year,  resign  the  comforts  and  elegancies  of  their 
family  mansions  for  a  small  house  in  some  town  or  village 
of  Leicestershire — to  the  eye  of  any  one  but  a  sportsman, 

1  Baronet  was  a  celebrated  racer,  belonging  to  George  the  Fourth  when 
Prince  of  Wales. 

141 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

nearly  the  ugliest  county  in  England.  Amongst  these  de- 
votees to  fox-hunting  are  the  following  : — The  Earl  of 
Wilton  and  his  countess,  in  the  town  of  Melton,  at  the  house 
formerly  occupied  by  the  Earl  of  Darlington,  to  which  he 
had  greatly  added,  having  purchased  it :  it  is,  perhaps, 
the  most  complete  and  splendid  hunting-box  at  this  time 
in  England.  At  Little  Poulton  the  Earl  of  Darlington  and 
family  ;  at  Leicester,  Sir  John  Key  and  his  lady  ;  at  Sowerby, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Villiers  ;  at  Quorndon,  Mr.  Farnham  ; 
and  at  the  Hall,  late  Mr.  Meynell's,  Mr.  Angerstein  ;  at 
RatclifFe,  Captain  Oliver  and  his  lady  ;  at  Oakham,  Mr. 
Curwin ;  at  Lowesby,  the  Marquis  of  Waterford  ;  at 
Barleythorpe,  Mr.  Bevan  ;  at  North  Stoke,  Mr.  Turner  ; 
at  the  Lodge,  near  to  Melton,  the  residence  of  the  late 
Earl  of  Plymouth,  are  domiciled,  in  the  season,  Sir  David 
and  Lady  Anne  Baird  ;  and  nearer  the  town,  the  following 
well-known  sportsmen  : — Mr.  John  Ewart,  with  his  family, 
in  the  house  formerly  Lord  Kinnaird's  ;  Count  Bathyany, 
per  se  ;  and  in  various  hotels  and  lodgings  are  to  be  found, 
Lords  Archibald  Seymour,  Macdonald,  and  Howth ; 
Messrs.  White,  Spiers,  Wharton,  Rochford,  Harvey  Aston, 
Doyne,  William  Coke,  John  Campbell  (of  Saddel),  Charles 
Lambe,  etc. 

Nor  can  any  foreigner  visiting  this  country,  and  a  sports- 
man in  his  own,  fail  to  be  greatly  surprised  at  the  magnifi- 
cence of  our  hunting  establishments,  whose  sole  object  is 
the  fox.  The  kennels  and  stables  at  Quorndon  Hall,  cele- 
brated as  the  residence  of  *  the  great  Mr.  Meynell,'  and 
142 


'Nimrod 5 

subsequently,  until  within  the  last  few  years,  of  every  pro- 
prietor of  the  Quorndon  or  Quorn  hounds,  are  especially 
worthy  his  attention.  The  former  are  perhaps  the  most 
extensive  at  the  present  day  in  England  ;  among  the  latter 
is  one  holding  twenty-eight  horses,  so  arranged,  that  when 
a  spectator  stands  in  the  centre  of  it,  his  eye  commands 
each  individual  animal  ;  and  being  furnished  with  seats, 
and  lighted  by  powerful  lamps,  forms  a  high  treat  to  the 
eye  of  a  sportsman  on  a  winter's  evening  ;  in  addition  to 
this,  there  are  several  loose  boxes  and  an  exercise  ride,  as 
it  is  called,  under  cover,  for  bad  weather.  The  usual  amount 
of  the  Quorn  establishment  has  been  forty  efficient  hunters, 
and  from  sixty  to  one  hundred  couple  of  hounds.  Mr. 
Osbaldeston,  however,  during  his  occupation  of  the  country, 
had  a  still  larger  kennel — and  no  wonder,  for  it  was  his 
custom  to  turn  out  every  day  in  the  week,  weather  per- 
mitting ;  and,  after  Christmas,  as  the  days  increased  in 
length,  he  had  often  two  packs  out  on  the  same  day — a 
circumstance  before  unheard  of.  This  gentleman,  however, 
is  insatiable  in  his  passion  for  the  chace ;  and  when  we 
think  what  fatigue  he  must  have  been  inured  to  whilst 
hunting  his  own  hounds  six  days  a  week,  in  such  a  county 
as  Leicestershire,  for  a  succession  of  seasons,  we  read  with 
less  surprise  his  late  Herculean  feat  of  riding  fifty  four-mile 
heats  over  Newmarket  Heath,  in  the  short  space  of  eight 
hours,  and  in  the  face  of  most  tempestuous  weather  ! 

Four  packs  of  foxhounds  divide  this  far-famed  county 
of  Leicester  :    namely,   Mr.   Forester's,  late  the  Duke  of 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

Rutland's  ;  the  Earl  of  Lonsdale's  ;  the  Atherstone,  late 
the  Earl  of  Lichfield's,  afterwards  Sir  John  Gerard's,  but 
now  Mr.  Applewaite's  ;  and  what  were  so  long  called  the 
Quorn,  now  Mr.  Errington's,  but  lately  Sir  Harry  Good- 
ricke's,  who  built  a  kennel  for  them  at  Thrussington,  half- 
way between  Melton  and  Leicester,  which  situation  is 
more  in  the  centre  of  the  country  than  Quorn,  where  they 
had  previously  been  kept  for  the  period  of  Mr.  Meynell's 
hunting.  The  county  of  Leicester,  however,  does  not  of 
itself  find  room  for  all  these  packs  :  parts  of  Rutlandshire, 
Lincolnshire,  Nottinghamshire,  and  Warwickshire,  are  also 
included  in  their  beat. 

Our  readers  are  doubtless  aware  that  such  portion  of 
a  country  as  is  hunted  by  any  one  pack  of  hounds  is  tech- 
nically called  their  country  ;  and  of  all  the  countries  in  the 
world,  the  Quorn  certainly  bears  the  bell.  This  superiority 
arises  from  the  peculiar  nature  of  the  soil,  which,  being  for 
the  most  part  good,  is  highly  favourable  to  scent ;  the 
immense  proportion  of  grazing  land  in  comparison  with 
that  which  is  ploughed  ;  and  the  great  size  of  the  enclosures, 
many  of  which  run  to  from  sixty  to  one  hundred  acres  each. 
The  rarity  of  large  woods  in  this  part  of  Leicestershire  is 
also  a  great  recommendation  to  it  as  a  hunting  country  ; 
while  it  abounds  in  furze-brakes,  or  gorse-covers,  as  they 
are  termed,  for  the  rent  of  which  a  considerable  annual  sum 
(nearly  one  thousand  pounds)  is  paid  to  the  owners.  Inde- 
pendently of  these,  what  are  termed  artificial  covers  are  made 
with  stakes,  set  at  a  certain  height  from  the  ground  for  the 
144 


^Nimrod 5 

grass  to  grow  over  them  ;  but  they  are  very  inferior  to  the 
others,  being  difficult  for  hounds  to  draw.  The  subscription 
to  the  Quorn  hounds  has  varied  from  two  thousand  to 
four  thousand  pounds  per  annum  ; l  but  Sir  Harry  Good- 
ricke  bore  the  whole  expense  of  them  himself. 

One  of  the  most  striking  features  in  the  aspect  of  the 
chosen  regions  of  English  fox-hunting  is  the  formidable 
ox-fence,  rendered  necessary  by  the  difficulty  of  keeping 
fatting  cattle  within  their  pastures,  during  the  season  of  the 
oestrus,  or  gad-fly.  It  consists  of — first,  a  wide  ditch,  then 
a  sturdy  blackthorn  hedge,  and  at  least  two  yards  beyond 
that  a  strong  rail,  about  four  feet  high  ;  to  clear  all  these 
obstacles,  from  whichever  side  they  may  be  approached, 
is  evidently  a  great  exertion  for  a  horse.  What  is  termed 
the  bullfinch-fence  (still  more  common  in  these  districts) 
is  a  quickset  hedge  of  perhaps  fifty  years'  growth,  with  a 
ditch  on  one  side  or  the  other,  and  so  high  and  strong  that 
horses  cannot  clear  it.  The  sportsman,  however,  charging 
this  at  nearly  full  speed,  succeeds  in  getting  to  the  other 
side,  when  the  bushes  close  after  him  and  his  horse,  and 
there  is  no  more  appearance  of  their  transit  than  if  a 
bird  had  hopped  through.  Horses,  unaccustomed  to  these 
fences,  seldom  face  them  well  at  first ;  perhaps  nothing 
short  of  the  emulation  which  animates  their  riders,  and  the 
courage  created  in  the  noble  animals  themselves  by  the 
presence  of  the  hounds,  would  induce  them  to  face  such 

1  Sir  Bellingham  Graham  alone  received  the  last-named  sum.     That  now 
given  to  Mr.  Errington  is  about  two  thousand  five  hundred  pounds. 

K  H5 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

things  at  all.  Timber-fences,  such  as  rails,  stiles,  and  gates, 
but  particularly  rails,  are  oftener  leaped  in  Leicestershire 
than  in  any  other  country,  by  reason  of  the  great  height 
which  the  quickset  fences  attain — a  height  which,  in  some 
places,  nothing  but  a  bird  can  surmount ;  brooks  also 
abound,  amongst  the  widest  of  which  are  the  Whissendine ; 
the  Smite,  or  Belvoir ;  one  under  Stanton  Wood ;  another 
under  Norton  by  Galby ;  and  a  fifth  near  Woodwell  Head. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  last  century,  Mr.  Meynell  was 
master  of  these  Quorn  hounds,  since  which  time  they 
have  been  in  the  hands  of  the  following  conspicuous  sports- 
men :  Earl  Sefton,  the  late  Lord  Foley,  Mr.  Thomas 
Assheton  Smith,  Sir  Bellingham  Graham,  Mr.  Osbaldeston, 
Lord  Southampton,  the  late  Sir  Harry  Goodricke,  Sir 
Francis  Holyoake  Goodricke,  and  Mr.  Errington,  the  second 
son  of  Sir  Thomas  Stanley,  Bart.,  of  Cheshire,  who  now 
has  them. 

The  town  of  Melton  furnishes  an  interesting  scene  on 
each  hunting  morning.  At  rather  an  early  hour  are  to  be 
seen  groups  of  hunters,  the  finest  in  the  world,  setting  out 
in  different  directions  to  meet  different  packs  of  hounds. 
Each  sportsman  sends  forward  two.  On  one  is  mounted 
a  very  light  but  extremely  well-dressed  lad,  who  returns 
home  on  his  master's  cover  hack,  or  in  the  dickey  of  his 
carriage,  if  he  has  happened  to  be  carried  to  cover  in  the 
more  luxurious  fashion.  On  the  other  hunter  is  a  per- 
sonage of  a  very  different  description.  This  is  what  is 
called  the  '  second-horse  man ' ;  he  rides  the  second  horse, 
146 


«,.  O.  rff  A/*  t//i- 


THE  SECOND  HORSK." 


^Nimrod ' 

which  is  to  carry  his  master  with  the  hounds  after  his  having 
had  one,  or  part  of  one,  chace  on  the  first.  This  descrip- 
tion of  servant  is  by  no  means  easy  to  procure  ;  and  he 
generally  exhibits  in  his  countenance  and  demeanour  some- 
thing like  a  modest  assurance  that  he  possesses  qualities  of 
importance.  In  short,  he  must  have  some  brains  in  his 
head  ;  be  a  good  horseman,  with  a  light  hand  ;  be  able 
to  ride  very  well  to  hounds  ;  and,  above  all,  he  must  have 
a  good  eye  to,  and  a  thorough  knowledge  of,  a  country,  to 
enable  him  to  give  his  master  a  chance  of  changing  his 
horse  in  a  run,  and  not  merely  when  it  is  over.  Lord 
Sefton  brought  this  second-horse  system  into  fashion  at  the 
time  he  hunted  Leicestershire,  when  Jack  Raven,  a  light- 
weight, and  son  of  his  huntsman,  the  celebrated  John  Raven, 
huntsman  to  the  still  more  celebrated  Mr.  Meynell,  used 
to  ride  one  of  his  thousand-guinea  hunters  in  his  wake 
— if  we  may  so  express  ourselves — in  the  field,  to  which  he 
changed  his  seat  at  the  first  convenient  opportunity.  The 
system,  however,  has  been  improved  upon  since  then. 
The  second-horse  man  now  rides  to  points,  instead  of 
following  the  hounds,  and  thus  often  meets  his  master  at 
a  most  favourable  moment,  when  his  good  steed  is  sinking, 
with  one  that  has  not  been  out  of  a,  trot.  There  is  much 
humanity  as  well  as  comfort  in  this  arrangement  ;  for  at 
the  pace  hounds  now  go  over  grass  countries,  horses  become 
somewhat  distressed  under  heavy-weights  in  a  short  time 
after  the  chace  begins,  when  the  scent  lies  well,  and  they 
are  manfully  ridden  up  to  the  pack. 

H7 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

About  an  hour  and  a  half  after  the  servants  are  gone 
forward  with  the  hunters,  a  change  of  scene  is  to  be  ob- 
served at  Melton.  Carriages  and  four  appear  at  some 
doors,  at  others  very  clever,  and,  most  commonly,  thorough- 
bred hacks,  led  gently  in  hand,  ready  for  their  owners  to 
mount.  The  by-roads  of  this  country  being  bad  for  wheels, 
the  hack  is  often  the  better  conveyance  of  the  two — always, 
indeed,  unless  the  fixture  be  at  a  place  on,  or  not  far  from, 
a  turnpike  road  ;  and  twelve  or  fourteen  miles  are  generally 
performed  by  him  within  the  hour. 

The  style  of  your  Meltonian  fox-hunter  has  long  dis- 
tinguished him  above  his  brethren  of  what  he  calls  the  pro- 
vincial chace.  When  turned  out  of  the  hands  of  his  valet, 
he  presents  the  very  beau-ideal  of  his  caste.  The  exact 
Stultz-like  fit  of  his  coat,  his  superlatively  well-cleaned 
leather  breeches  and  boots,  and  the  generally  apparent  high 
breeding  of  the  man,  can  seldom  be  matched  elsewhere ; 
and  the  most  cautious  sceptic  on  such  points  would  satisfy 
himself  of  this  fact  at  one  single  inspection. 

Before  Leicestershire  acquired  its  present  ascendant  rank 
in  the  scale  of  sport,  it  was  hunted  by  what  were  called  the 
Noel  hounds,  which  afterwards  became  the  property  of  the 
Lonsdale  family  ;  but,  in  those  early  days,  this  county 
wore,  to  the  eye  of  a  sportsman,  a  very  different  appear- 
ance from  that  which  it  now  presents.  A  great  portion  of 
the  land  was  unenclosed  ;  neither  was  there  a  tenth  part 
of  the  furze-covers  with  which  it  now  abounds.  The  foxes, 
on  the  other  hand,  were  wilder  then  than  they  are  at  present, 
148 


^Nimrod ' 

and  runs  of  longer  duration  than  those  of  later  times  were, 
on  an  average,  the  result.  Game  was  not  so  plentiful  as 
it  now  is  ;  consequently  foxes  had  further  to  travel  for 
their  usual  provender,  which  trained  them  for  runs  of 
extraordinary  length  ;  and  they  were  wilder,  from  the  wilder 
nature  of  the  country  in  which  they  were  bred.  It  was, 
however,  reserved  to  Mr.  Meynell  to  render  famous  the 
county  of  Leicester  as  a  hunting  country.  He  was,  doubt- 
less, the  most  successful  sportsman  of  his  own  time,  nor 
has  he  been  surpassed  by  any  who  have  trodden  in  his 
steps  ;  although  it  may  be  admitted  he  has  had  his  equals 
in  some  departments  of  *  the  craft.'  It  is  a  great  mistake 
to  fancy  that  a  fool  will  ever  make  a  first-rate  figure  even 
in  fox-hunting  ;  and,  in  truth,  this  father  of  the  modern 
chace  was  anything  but  a  fool.  He  was  a  man  of  strong 
and  vigorous  mind,  joined  with  much  perseverance,  as  well 
as  ardour  in  his  favourite  pursuit,  and  brought  faculties  to 
bear  upon  sport,  as  a  science,  which  would  have  distinguished 
themselves  in  any  walk  of  life  to  which  he  might  have 
applied  them.  As  a  breeder  of  hounds  he  displayed  a 
perfect  judgment :  the  first  qualities  he  looked  for  were 
fine  noses  and  stout  running  ;  a  combination  of  strength 
with  beauty,  and  steadiness  with  high  mettle.  His  idea  of 
perfection  of  shape  was  summed  up  in  *  short  backs,  open 
bosoms,  straight  legs,  and  compact  feet.'  Although  he  did 
not  hunt  his  hounds  himself,  yet  he  was  one  of  the  boldest, 
as  well  as  most  judicious  horsemen  of  his  time  ;  but  this 
was  only  a  minor  qualification.  His  knowledge  of  hunt- 

149 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

ing  was  supreme,  and  several  of  his  maxims  are  in  force 
to  the  present  hour.  He  was  a  great  advocate  for  not 
hurrying  hounds  in  their  work ;  and  having,  perhaps,  un- 
paralleled influence  over  his  field,  he  was  enabled  to  prevent 
his  brother  sportsmen  from  pressing  on  the  hounds  when 
in  difficulties — himself  being  the  first  to  keep  aloof  :  in 
chace,  no  man  rode  harder. 

It  was  in  his  day  that  the  hard  riding,  or,  we  should 
rather  say,  quick  riding,  to  hounds,  which  has  ever  since 
been  practised,  was  first  brought  into  vogue.  The  late  Mr. 
Childe,  of  Kinlet  Hall,  Shropshire — a  sportsman  of  the 
highest  order,  and  a  great  personal  friend  of  Mr.  Meynell — 
is  said  to  have  first  set  the  example,  and  it  was  quickly 
followed  by  the  leading  characters  of  the  Quorn  hunt.1 
This  system  has  not  only  continued,  but  has  gained  ground  ; 
and  the  art  of  riding  a  chace  may  be  said  to  have  arrived  at 
a  state  of  perfection  quite  unknown  at  any  other  period  of 
time.  That  a  drawback  from  sport,  and  occasional  loss  of 
foxes,  are  often  the  results  of  this  dashing  method  of  riding 
to  hounds,  every  sportsman  must  acknowledge  ;  as  an  old 

1  Among  the  foremost  of  these  were  the  present  Earl  of  Jersey,  then  Lord 
Villiers  ;  the  late  Lord  Forester,  then  Mr.  Cecil  Forester  ;  Lord  Delamere, 
then  Mr.  Cholmondeley ;  the  Honourable  George  Germaine ;  Earl  Sefton ; 
Lord  Huntingfield,  then  the  Honourable  Joshua  Vanneck  ;  the  late  Lords 
Charles  Somerset,  Maynard,  and  Craven  ;  Lord  Lyndoch,  then  Colonel 
Graham  ;  the  late  Lords  Foley  and  Wenlock,  then  Sir  Robert  Lawley  ; 
Honourables  Robert  Grosvenor,  Berkeley  Craven,  and  Martin  Hawke  ;  Sir 
John  Shelley,  Sir  Henry  Peyton,  and  the  late  Sir  Stephen  Glynn  ;  General 
Tarleton  ;  Messrs.  Loraine  Smith,  Childe,  Charles  Meynell,  Harvey  Aston, 
Lowth,  Musters,  Lambton,  Bennet,  Hawkes,  Lockley,  Thomas  Assheton 
Smith,  Lindow,  Jacob  Wardell,  cum  multis  aliis. 


^Nimrod " 

writer  on  hunting  has  observed,  '  The  emulation  of  leading, 
in  dogs  and  their  masters,  has  been  the  ruin  of  many  a  good 
cry.'  One  circumstance,  however,  has  greatly  tended  to 
perfect  the  system  of  riding  well  up,  and  this  is  the  im- 
proved condition  of  hunters.1  Of  Mr.  Meynell's  time,  two 
celebrated  chaces  are  recorded  in  print :  one  of  an  hour 
and  twenty  minutes  without  a  check ;  and  the  other,  two 
hours  and  fifty  minutes  without  a  cast.  Only  two  horses 
carried  their  riders  throughout  the  first  run,  and  only  one 
went  to  the  end  of  the  second  ;  both  foxes  were  killed,  and 
every  hound  was  present  at  the  death  of  each.  We  may 
venture  to  say,  had  the  two  runs  we  have  alluded  to  taken 
place  within  the  last  few  years,  this  superiority  in  the  con- 
dition of  the  hounds  over  the  horses  would  by  no  means 
have  been  maintained. 

We  wish  we  could  gratify  such  of  our  readers  as  are 
sportsmen  with  the  date  and  origin  of  our  best  packs  of 
foxhounds,  as  well  as  the  names  and  character  of  their 
owners  ;  but  our  limits  will  not  allow  us  to  go  into  much 
detail.  Perhaps  the  oldest  foxhound  blood  in  England  at 
this  time  is  to  be  found  in  the  kennel  of  the  Earl  of  Lons- 
dale,  at  Cottesmore.  The  Noels,  whom  this  family  suc- 
ceeded, were  of  ancient  standing  in  the  chace  ;  and  the 

1  The  advantages  of  the  new  system  of  preparing  the  hunter  for  the  field 
have  been  so  clearly  demonstrated  by  the  author  of  these  papers,  in  his  Letters 
on  the  Condition  of  Hunters,  Riding  to  Hounds,  etc.,  that  the  old  one,  of  turning 
him  to  grass  in  the  summer,  and  destroying  that  condition  which  it  had  taken 
months  to  procure,  is  nearly,  if  not  totally,  exploded  in  the  studs  of  all  the 
hard  riders  of  the  present  day. 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

venerable  peer  himself  has  now  superintended  the  pack  for 
nearly  fifty  years,  with  a  short  interregnum  of  three  or 
four  years,  when  Sir  Gilbert  Heathcote  had  them. 

Lord  Yarborough's  kennel  can  likewise  boast  of  very 
old  blood,  that  pack  having  descended,  without  interrup- 
tion, from  father  to  son  for  upwards  of  one  hundred  and 
fifty  years. 

The  hounds,  late  Mr.  Warde's,  sold  to  Mr.  Horlock  a 
few  years  since  for  two  thousand  guineas,  claim  a  high 
descent,  having  much  of  the  blood  of  Lord  Thanet's  and 
Mr.  Elwes's  packs,  which  were  in  the  possession  of  the 
Abingdon  family  at  Rycot,  for  at  least  three  generations, 
and  hunted  Oxfordshire  and  Berkshire. 

Mr.  Warde  was  a  master  of  foxhounds  during,  as  we 
believe,  the  yet  unequalled  period  of  fifty-seven  years  in 
succession.  During  this  time  he  sold  his  pack  to  Lord 
Spencer ;  but  reserved  three  couple  of  bitches,  from  which 
he  raised  another  pack,  and  thus  never  lost  sight  of  his  old 
blood. 

The  late  Earl  Fitzwilliam  comes  very  near  Mr.  Warde 
as  an  old  master  of  foxhounds.  Soon  after  Mr.  Warde 
purchased  his  first  pack  of  the  Honourable  Captain  Bertie, 
this  peer  bought  the  one  called  the  Crewe  and  Foley,  which 
had  been  very  long  established  in  Oxfordshire  and  Warwick- 
shire ;  and  he  kept  them  to  his  death — nearly  fifty  years, 
and  they  are  now  in  the  kennel  of  the  present  Earl. 

The  Belvoir  hounds  are  also  a  very  old-established  pack, 
but  had  an  interval  during  the  minority  of  the  present 
152 


^Nimrod ' 

Duke  of  Rutland,  when  in  the  hands,  first,  of  Sir  Carnaby 
Haggerstone,  and  afterwards  of  Mr.  Percival,  brother  of 
the  late  Lord  Egmont. 

The  Duke  of  Beaufort's  are  another  justly  celebrated 
pack,  now  in  possession  of  the  third  generation  ;  they  date 
from  the  time  of  Lord  Fitzwilliam's  taking  the  Crewe  and 
Foley  hounds,  which  made  an  opening  in  that  part  of 
Oxfordshire  which  the  Duke  now  hunts. 

Foxhounds  have  been  kept  at  Raby  Castle,  Durham, 
by  the  present  Duke  of  Cleveland  and  his  uncle,  the  late 
Duke,  for  more  than  a  century  ;  and  His  Grace  officiated 
as  huntsman  to  his  pack  for  nearly  forty  seasons,  still  follow- 
ing them  to  the  field. 

The  Earl  of  Scarborough's  late  pack,  now  Mr.  Fol- 
jambe's,  hunting  the  Collingworth  country,  claims  also 
an  early  date  ;  and  among  the  other  old  masters  of  fox- 
hounds now  alive,  the  names  of  Sir  Richard  Puleston,  the 
late  Lord  Middleton,  the  Earl  of  Harewood,  Mr.  Villebois, 
Mr.  Ralph  Lambton,  Mr.  Musters,  and  the  Duke  of  Grafton, 
stand  next  on  the  list.  The  late  Sir  Thomas  Mostyn 
was  in  the  uninterrupted  possession  of  foxhounds  for  up- 
wards of  forty  years  ;  the  late  Mr.  Chute,  of  Hampshire, 
kept  them  at  least  thirty  years  ;  and  that  super- excellent 
sportsman,  Mr.  Musters,  has  already  seen  out  a  similar 
period. 

With  the  exception  of  those  and  a  few  others,  the  packs 
of  English  foxhounds  have  changed  masters  so  often  within 
the  last  fifty  years,  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  trace  them, 

153 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

either  in  blood  or  possession.     However,  the  most  valu- 
able kennels  of  the  present  day  are  those  of  the  Dukes 
of    Rutland,   Beaufort,   and    Cleveland,   Lord    Fitzwilliam, 
Messrs.  Ralph  Lambton  and  Osbaldeston  (now  Mr.  Harvey 
Combe's).    Mr.  Warde  has  been  remarkable  for  the  great 
bone,  size,  and  power  of  the  hounds  he  has  bred.    With 
the  exception  of  the  Duke  of  Cleveland's  and  Mr.  Ville- 
bois's  large  packs  (so  called  in  contradistinction  to  packs 
consisting  of  their  smaller   hounds,   which   these  eminent 
sportsmen  bring  into  the  field  on  the  alternate  days),  no 
hounds  of  the  present  day  equal  his  in  this  respect.    His 
logic    on   the    subject    is    incontrovertible.    '  You    may    at 
pleasure/    says    this    distinguished    sportsman,    '  diminish 
the  size  and  power  of  the  animal  you  wish  to  breed  ;   but 
it  is  difficult  to  increase,  or  even  preserve  them,  adhering 
to    the    same    breed.'    Many    thought    that    Mr.    Warde's 
hounds  looked  to  some  disadvantage,  owing  to  their  gener- 
ally carrying  a  good  deal  of  flesh,  which,  however,  he  con- 
sidered— as  did  also  the  celebrated  Tom  Rose,  the  Duke 
of  Graf  ton's  late  huntsman,  and  father  of  the  present — 
absolutely  essential  to  those  which,  like   his,  hunted  strong 
woodland   countries.    To   the   eye   of  a   sportsman,   it   is 
certain   they  always   afforded  a  high  treat,  as  the  power 
and  fine  symmetry  of  the  foxhound  were  apparent  at  first 
sight ;    and  almost  every  kennel  in  the  south  of  England, 
and  several   in   the   north,  are  now  proud  to  acknowledge 
their  obligations  to  the  blood  of  John  Warde — the  Father 
of  the  Field. 

154 


'Nimrod ' 

The  following  sketch  of  honest  Old  Tom  is  copied 
from  a  late  number  of  the  Northampton  Herald^  with  a  few 
additional  particulars  by  the  friend  who  has  kindly  for- 
warded it  to  us,  and  who  had  long  known  him,  and  was  able 
to  appreciate  his  character.  It  is  but  an  imperfect  sketch, 
he  observes,  and  hardly  does  Old  Tom  justice  : — 

'  Poor  Tom  has  at  length  gone  to  the  place  where  all  things  are 
forgotten.  For  many  years  have  I  known  him  well,  and  safely  can 
I  aver  that  a  more  honest  and  worthy  man  never  sat  on  a  saddle, 
or  ever  cheered  a  hound.  He  had  been  from  his  infancy  in  the 
family  of  the  Duke  of  Graf  ton.  It  is  related  of  him,  that  Joe  Smith, 
who  had  the  care  of  the  old  Duke's  hounds,  whilst  hunting  one  day 
at  Staen,  near  Brackley,  heard  a  boy  hallooing  crows,  and  was  so 
pleased  with  his  voice,  that  he  took  him  into  the  stable.  Be  that 
as  it  may,  he  hunted  the  Grafton  pack  for  nearly  half  a  century. 
As  it  is  much  easier  to  pick  a  hole  than  mend  one,  so  many,  who 
were  unacquainted  with  the  nature  of  the  country,  used  ofttimes 
to  be  not  very  scrupulous  in  their  remarks  as  to  his  management. 
No  one  knew  what  hounds  ought  to  be  better  than  Tom  ;  but  as 
he  frequently  used  to  say,  "  a  man  must  breed  his  pack  to  suit  his 
country."  His  hounds  were  supposed  to  be  wild,  and  to  have  too 
much  fly  in  them  ;  or,  according  to  his  phrase,  "  a  leetle  in  a  hurry." 
They  certainly  were  so  in  a  degree  ;  but,  in  the  ungovernable  wood- 
lands he  had  to  hunt,  how  many  foxes  would  he  have  caught  had 
he  not  lifted  them  and  thrown  them  in  at  head,  with  a  bad  fox  ? 
One  fox  would  have  lasted  him  a  season.  This  system,  doubtless, 
would  make  them  wild  in  the  open,  but  in  a  woodland  country 
what  other  system  is  to  be  pursued  ?  Knowing  that  they  had  a 
good  deal  of  fling  in  them,  Tom  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  a  red 
coat.  The  Pytchley  wild-boys,  who  were  ever  for  a  scurry  in 
the  morning,  used  to  indulge  Tom  with  their  company  whenever 
they  met  in  the  open,  and  not  being  accustomed  (when  at  home) 
to  give  them  "  much  room,"  used  to  drive  them  over  it  most  un- 

155 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

mercifully,  and  generally  soon  lost  their  first  fox  for  them.  As 
soon,  however,  as  Tom's  company  had  left  him,  or  he  had  left  them, 
by  slipping  down-wind  with  a  few  farmers  and  a  field  he  could 
control,  no  hounds  would  sooner  settle  to  their  scent,  or  make  more 
of  it.  If  the  scent  would  let  them,  none  could  twist  him  up  sooner. 
Tom  had  one  failing  (and  who  has  not  ?),  which  was,  that  he  was 
too  strongly  prejudiced  in  favour  of  his  own  sort,  and  thereby  lost 
the  advantage  which  is  derived  from  judiciously  crossing,  and  which 
has  so  mainly  contributed  to  the  improvement  of  hounds  in  the 
present  day.  He  had  generally  many  lame  hounds,  which  arose, 
not  from  any  fault  of  his,  but  from  the  dampness  of  the  kennel,  in 
which  there  arose  upright  springs  ;  which  (whatever  may  be  the 
case  now)  were  not  cured  in  his  time.  Though  not  an  elegant, 
he  was  a  capital  horseman,  and  no  one  got  better  to  his  hounds. 
He  did  not  like  either  a  difficult  or  a  raw  horse,  and  he  was  not  what 
is  called  a  bruising  rider;  but  he  well  knew  the  pace  his  horse 
was  going,  and  always  kept  something  in  him.  He  did  not  like 
cramming  him  at  large  fences  ;  but,  like  his  inimitable  pupil, 
Charles  King,  would  always  let  any  aspiring  rider  break  the 
binders  for  him,  and  would  rather  get  his  horse's  hind-legs  into 
the  middle  of  a  fence  and  make  him  creep  through  it,  than 
let  him  jump. 

'  He  had  a  sharp  eye  for  a  gap,  or  the  weakest  place  in  a  fence, 
and  could  bore  a  hole  through  a  black,  dark  double  hedge  better 
than  most  men.  In  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  he  had  a  propensity 
highly  disagreeable  to  a  horseman's  eye  :  he  used  to  poke  his  horse 
on  the  head  till  he  frightened  him  out  of  his  senses,  held  him  too 
hard,  and  frequently  made  him  jump  short,  either  before  or  behind. 
The  consequence  was,  he  often  spoilt  his  beauty  in  a  scramble, 
or  lay  on  his  back,  as  the  penalty  of  his  cowardice.  However,  he 
got  well  to  his  hounds  without  upsetting  his  horse  ;  and  when  he 
was  with  them  he  knew  well  when  to  stir  them,  and  when  to  let 
them  alone. 

*  Some  five-and-thirty  years  ago  no  pack  was  better  appointed. 
The  horses  came  chiefly  from  the  racing  stud,  and  all  the  men  were 

156 


^Nimrod '' 

well  mounted.  Dick  Forster  1  and  Ned  Allen,  then  both  in  high 
feather,  were  of  the  first  order  of  the  profession  (Jackett,  too,  was  a 
famous  assistant,  and  a  fine  rider),  quick,  active,  and  light,  and 
always  ready  to  play  into  one  another's  hands.  As  many  a  flower 
blows  unseen,  so  had  these  hounds  many  a  fine  day's  sport  that  was 
hardly  ever  heard  of.  With  no  one  out  but "  Old  Beau  "  with  his  low- 
crowned  hat,  black  top-boots,  one  steel  spur  ;  his  groom,  Luke, 
in  his  twilled  fustian  frock,  on  the  second  horse  ;  and  a  few  old 
potterers  like  myself — I  have  seen  many  a  run,  the  recollection 
of  which  warms  the  expiring  embers  of  my  old  age.  Tom  had  a 
fine  voice,  which  he,  however,  never  used  unnecessarily  ;  and  he 
scarcely  ever  blew  his  horn,  except  to  get  them  out  of  a  cover  when 
the  fox  was  away.  As  long  as  fox-hunting  is  followed  by  English- 
men, so  long  will  the  name  of  Old  Tom  Rose  be  cherished  with  the 
fondest  recollections.' 

Sir  Richard  Puleston  is  celebrated  as  a  judicious  breeder 
of  hounds,  and  his  blood  has  likewise  been  highly  valued 
in  several  of  our  best  kennels,  amongst  which  is  the  Duke 
of  Cleveland's,  to  whom  Sir  Richard  sold  a  very  large  draft 
some  years  since,  and  also  that  of  the  Fife.  The  late  Mr. 
Corbet,  a  very  considerable  breeder  of  hounds,  always 
bowed  to  his  superior  judgment  in  this  department  of  the 
science.  The  most  celebrated  breeders,  however,  of  this 
day,  are  the  Dukes  of  Rutland  and  Beaufort,  and  Mr.  Ralph 
Lambton  ;  and  Mr.  Osbaldeston's  blood,  although  himself 
no  longer  the  owner  of  hounds,  is  de  facto  in  the  highest 
repute  in  the  hunting  world.  A  few  years  back,  he  had 
nearly  forty  couple  of  hounds  at  work  at  one  time,  by  one 
sire — his  Furrier. 

The  following  testimony  to  the  character  of  the  late 

1  Now  huntsman  to  Mr.  Villebois,  in  Hampshire. 

157 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

Duke  of  Beaufort  and  his  foxhounds,  appeared  in  a  late 
number  of  the  *  New  Sporting  Magazine'  from  the  pen  of 
*  Nimrod '  :- 

'  Yet  it  is  as  a  master  of  foxhounds,  that  it  is  within  my  province 
to  speak  of  the  late  Duke  of  Beaufort  ;  and,  from  the  many  years' 
experience  I  had  of  His  Grace  in  the  field,  I  feel  myself  in  some 
measure  competent  to  the  task.  I  need  scarcely  say  I  was  always 
an  admirer  of  his  hounds,  although  I  could  not  like  his  country. 
The  gradual  improvement  I  saw  in  the  former,  in  defiance  of  all 
the  disadvantages  of  the  latter,  convinced  me  that  there  was  a  system 
at  work  highly  worthy  of  my  consideration — a  directing  hand  some- 
where which  must  eventually  lead  to  perfection.  But  whence  this 
directing  hand  I  was  for  a  long  time  unable  to  discover.  I  doubted 
it  being  that  of  the  Duke,  not  from  a  mistrust  of  his  capacity,  but 
because  I  had  reason  to  believe  the  numerous  avocations  of  his 
station  prevented  his  attending  to  the  minutiae  of  a  kennel  ;  although 
I  did  not  consider  His  Grace  a  sportsman  of  the  very  first  class,  in 
which  his  hounds  certainly  stood.  I  doubted  it  being  that  of  Philip 
Payne,  his  huntsman,  for,  to  appearance,  a  duller  bit  of  clay  was 
never  moulded  by  Nature.  But  we  should  not  judge  from  appear- 
ances, and  I  lived  to  confess  my  error.  There  was  about  Philip  a 
steady  observance  of  circumstances ,  which,  increasing  with  the  ex- 
perience of  their  results,  was  more  useful  to  him,  as  a  breeder  of 
foxhounds,  than  the  learning  and  talent  of  a  Person.  His  observa- 
tion alone  taught  him  that  in  seeking  to  produce  excellence  in 
animals,  we  have  the  best  prospect  of  success  in  the  election  of  those 
to  breed  from  which  have  individually  exhibited  the  peculiar  qualities 
we  require  from  them.  Having  availed  ourselves  of  those  in  a 
kennel,  a  combination  of  strength  and  symmetry — which  we  call 
beauty — produces  the  perfect  hound  ;  at  least  as  nearly  so  as  the 
somewhat  imperfect  law  of  nature  will  allow  of.' 

Persons,  who  are  not  sportsmen,  may  be  at  a  loss  to 
estimate  the  annual  expenses  of  a  pack  of  foxhounds,  hunting 

158 


^Nimrod ' 

our  first-rate  countries ;  and,  perhaps,  equally  so  to  account 
for  such  large  sums  being  expended  in  such  pursuits.1 

Hay  and  oats,  and,  consequently,  oatmeal,  being  very 
much  cheaper  now  than  they  were  during  the  war-prices, 
of  course  these  expenses  are  diminished  :  but,  -even  at 
present,  we  understand  that,  in  the  best  establishments, 
very  little  is  left  out  of  four  thousand  pounds  at  the  end  of 
the  year,  when  all  contingent  charges  are  liquidated  ;  and 
we  have  reason  to  know  that  several  greatly  outstrip  even 
this  sum,  perhaps  to  the  extent  of  one-half  in  addition.  The 
late  Sir  Harry  Goodricke  had  eighty  couple  of  hounds  in 
his  kennel  and  forty-four  hunters  in  his  stables  ;  and  we 

1  The  following  are  the  items  of  expenses  laid  down  by  Colonel  Cooke  in 
his  '  Observations  on  Fox-Hunting?  published  a  few  years  since.     The  calcula- 
tion supposed  a  four-times-a-week  country  ;    but  it  is  generally  below  the 
mark  : — 

Fourteen  horses     ......    £700 

Hounds'  food  for  fifty  couple  ....       275 

Firing  ........         50 

Taxes 120 

Two  whippers-in  and  feeder    .         .         .         .210 

Earth-stopping       ......         80 

Saddlery        .          .          .         .          .         .         .       100 

Farriery,  shoeing,  and  medicine        .         .         .       100 
Young  hounds  purchased,  and  expenses  at  walks       100 
Casualties      .......       200 

Huntsman's  wages  and  his  horses     .         .         .       300 

£2235 

Of  course,  countries  vary  much  in  expense  from  local  circumstances  such 
as  the  necessity  for  change  of  kennels,  hounds  sleeping  out,  etc.,  etc.  In 
those  which  are  called  hollow  countries,  consequently  abounding  in  earths, 
the  expense  of  earth-stopping  is  heavy  ;  and  Northamptonshire  is  of  this 
class.  In  others,  a  great  part  of  the  foxes  are  what  is  termed  stub-bred  (bred 
above  ground),  which  circumstance  reduces  the  amount  of  this  item. 

159 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

believe  that  his  predecessors,  Lord  Southampton,  Mr. 
Osbaldeston,  and  Sir  Bellingham  Graham,  even  exceeded 
this  measure  of  establishment. 

The  price  of  hounds   is,  perhaps,  not  generally  known. 
Thirty  years  ago  Sir  Richard  Puleston  sold  his  to  the  Duke 
of  Bedford  for  seven  hundred,  and  fifteen  years  since,  Mr. 
Corbet's  were  sold  to  Lord  Middleton  for  twelve  hundred 
guineas.    A  well-known  good   pack  will,   in  these   times, 
command   a   thousand   guineas — those   of  Lord   Tavistock 
(the  Oakley)  to  Sir  Harry  Goodricke ;  Mr.  Nicholl's  to  the 
Earl  of  Kintore ;  and  Sir  Richard  Sutton's  to  Mr.  Thomas 
Assheton  Smith,  have  been  sold  for  that   sum  within  the 
last  few  years  ;  and  those  of  Mr.  Warde,  as  we  have  already 
said,  for  double  that  sum.    But  a  very  few  years  back, 
indeed,  Mr.  Osbaldeston  sold  ten  couple  of  hounds  for  the 
first-named  sum  to  the  late  Lord  Middleton  ;   and  we  have 
reason  to  believe  that  he  had  hounds  in  his  kennel  for  which 
he  would   not  have   taken   two   hundred   guineas  a-piece. 
Knowing  all  this,  one  can  make  every  allowance  for  the 
angry  feeling  and  fears  of  their  owners  when  they  see  the 
chance  of  their  being  ridden  over  and  destroyed  in  chace. 
Good  hounds  are  not  easily  replaced  ;  and  it  is  on  this  account 
that  in  the  hard- riding  countries,  and  where  the  covers  are 
small,  seldom  more  than  sixteen  or  seventeen  couple  form 
a  pack. 

The  recent  retirement  of  the  Duke  of  Rutland  from  the 
field  has  been  felt  to  leave  a  vacuum  in  the  hunting  world. 
Those  hounds  are  now  in  the  possession  of  a  very  popular 
1 60 


^Nimrod 5 

young  nobleman,  Lord  Forester,  and  His  Grace  subscribes 
one  thousand  two  hundred  pounds  per  annum  towards 
their  support ;  but  the  Duke  himself  no  longer  hunts, 
neither  is  there  the  annual  assemblage  of  sportsmen  that 
was  wont  to  be  within  the  walls  of  Belvoir  Castle.  These 
are  circumstances  which  have  caused  much  regret ;  for  His 
Grace  retires  with  the  good  name  of  all  the  fox-hunting 
population.  He  *  did  the  thing  '  with  princely  magnificence 
both  indoors  and  out,  and  if  materials  had  been  sought 
for  to  furnish  a  faithful  representation  of  the  style  and 
grandeur  of  the  genuine  English  nobleman,  giving  a  fair 
part  of  his  attention  to  the  arrangements  of  the  chace,  we 
have  reason  to  believe  they  would  have  all  been  met  with 
at  Belvoir. 

Although  most  foreigners  express  vast  surprise  that  we 
should  go  to  such  expense  in  hunting  the  fox,  unattended 
by  the  parade  of  the  continental  chasse,  yet  several  of  them 
have  of  late  been  induced  to  make  their  appearance  in 
Leicestershire  ;  and  some  few  have  shown  that  had  they 
been  born  Englishmen,  and  rightly  initiated  in  the  art,  they 
must  have  been  conspicuous  characters  in  the  field.  The 
performances  of  Count  Sandore,  an  Hungarian  nobleman, 
who  resided  one  year  at  Melton  Mowbray,  on  a  visit  to 
Lord  Alvanley,  have  already  met  the  public  eye  ;  and  his 
daring  horsemanship,  and  consequent  mishaps,  formed  the 
subject  of  an  amusing  tale.  From  a  ludicrous  description 
given  of  them  by  himself,  a  series  of  pictures  were  painted 
by  Mr.  Ferneley,  of  Melton  Mowbray,  representing  him  in 
L  161 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

as  extraordinary  and  perilous  situations  as  the  imagination 
of  man  could  have  conceived.  Fiction,  however,  was  not 
resorted  to,  every  scene  being  a  real  one  ;  and  the  Count — 
the  delight  of  the  Meltonians — carried  them  to  his  own 
country,  on  his  return,  together  with  some  English  mares 
to  produce  hunters,  having  had  a  good  taste  of  the  breed. 
He  was  mounted  by  Mr.  Tilbury,  a  celebrated  horse-dealer 
in  London,  who  found  him  a  stud  of  eight  horses  for  the 
season,  for  the  moderate  sum  of  one  thousand  pounds,  in- 
cluding every  contingent  expense,  even  to  the  turnpike 
gates.  Count  Bathyany  is  a  resident  at  Melton  ;  Counts 
Hahn  and  Bassewitz,  from  Germany,  spent  part  of  one  season 
there  ;  and  Count  Matuchevitch,  the  Russian  Minister,  is 
residing  there  now.  His  Excellency  has  ten  hunters  of  his 
own,  rides  hard,  and  is  much  esteemed  by  the  Meltonians, 
and  all  sportsmen  in  the  neighbourhood.1  During  the  visit 
of  Don  Miguel  to  the  Duke  of  Wellington  at  Strathfieldsay, 
a  few  years  back,  he  went  out  with  the  Vine  hounds  (late 
Mr.  Chute's),  to  which  His  Grace  is  a  subscriber.  He  rode 

1  Several  French  sportsmen  have  lately  visited  Leicestershire  ;  the  best 
performed  of  them,  perhaps,  is  M.  Normandie.  M.  de  Vaublan  and  M. 
d'Hinnisdale  have  both  had  a  taste  of  Melton  ;  and,  in  1834,  the  last-named 
gentleman  spent  the  winter  at  Leamington,  in  Warwickshire.  This  was 
the  year  in  which  M.  Vaublan  was  in  Leicestershire,  where,  although  very 
indifferently  mounted  by  Tilbury,  and  experiencing  many  falls,  he  was  almost 
always  to  be  seen  at  the  finish  of  a  good  run.  At  all  events,  he  went  as  long 
as  his  horse  could  go,  and  was  considered  a  very  good  horseman.  M.  de 
Normandie  has  hunted  much,  both  in  Leicestershire,  Warwickshire,  and 
Dorsetshire,  being  at  this  time  domiciled  at  Catestock,  in  the  latter  county, 
the  headquarters  of  Mr.  Farquharson's  hunt,  with  three  thorough-bred  young 
ones  in  his  stud — namely,  Ciudad,  Rouncival,  and  Rodrigo — which,  no  doubt, 
will  soon  become  perfect  in  his  hands,  for  no  man  need  have  better. 

162 


^Nimrod ' 

a  celebrated  hunter  of  the  late  King's,  and  gallantly  did  he 
put  him  along.  It  too  often  happens,  however,  on  such 
occasions,  when  sport  is  most  anxiously  desired  for  the 
amusement  of  some  distinguished  individual,  that  the  game 
runs  short,  or  the  scent  lies  faintly.  Such  was  a  good 
deal  the  case  in  this  instance,  although  there  was  running 
enough  to  show  that  Miguel  would  have  stopped  at 
nothing  that  might  have  come  in  his  way  to  oppose  his 
being  with  the  hounds.  Of  his  qualities  as  a  sportsman 
there  was  little  opportunity  of  judging,  but  he  certainly 
showed  himself  to  be  a  horseman  of  a  superior  caste  : 
insomuch  that  those  who  observed  him  were  little 
astonished  with  the  accounts  of  his  personal  activity 
in  the  first  weeks  after  his  return  to  Portugal  :  he,  at 
that  crisis,  is  said  to  have  ridden  six  hundred  miles  in 
six  successive  days,  a  feat  which  those  who  have  travelled 
on  Portuguese  roads  will  appreciate.  So  much  for,  we 
fear,  one  of  the  last  persons  to  whom  anybody  would 
think  of  applying  Wordsworth's  eulogium  on  *  the  Shepherd 
Lord '  :— 

'  In  him  the  savage  virtue  of  the  chace, 
Revenge,  and  all  ferocious  thoughts,  were  dead.' 

It  is  a  hackneyed  enough  remark,  that  both  ancient  and 
modern  writers  make  sad  work  of  it  when  they  attempt  a 
description  of  heaven.  To  describe  a  run  with  foxhounds 
is  not  a  much  easier  task  ;  but  to  make  the  attempt  with 
any  other  county  than  Leicestershire  in  our  eye,  would  be 
giving  a  chance  away.  Let  us  then  suppose  ourselves  to 

163 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

have  been  at  Ashby  Pasture,  in  the  Quorn  country,  with 
Mr.  Osbaldeston's  hounds,  in  the  year  1826,  when  that 
pack  was  at  the  height  of  its  well-merited  celebrity.  Let 
us  also  indulge  ourselves  with  a  fine  morning  in  the  first 
week  of  February,  and  at  least  two  hundred  well-mounted 
men  by  the  cover's  side.  Time  being  called — say  a  quarter 
past  eleven,  nearly  our  great-grandfather's  dinner-hour — 
the  hounds  approach  the  furze-brake,  or  the  gorse,  as  it  is 
called  in  that  region.  '  Hark  in,  hark  I '  with  a  slight  cheer, 
and  perhaps  one  wave  of  his  cap,  says  Mr.  Osbaldeston, 
who  long  hunted  his  own  pack,  and  in  an  instant  he  has 
not  a  hound  at  his  horse's  heels.  In  a  very  short  time  the 
gorse  appears  shaken  in  various  parts  of  the  cover— ap- 
parently from  an  unknown  cause,  not  a  single  hound  being 
for  some  minutes  visible.  Presently  one  or  two  appear, 
leaping  over  some  old  furze  which  they  cannot  push  through, 
and  exhibit  to  the  field  their  glossy  skins  and  spotted  sides. 
*  Oh  !  you  beauties  !  '  exclaims  some  old  Meltonian,  rap- 
turously fond  of  the  sport.  Two  minutes  more  elapse  ; 
another  hound  slips  out  of  cover,  and  takes  a  short  turn 
outside  with  his  nose  to  the  ground  and  his  stern  lashing 
his  side — thinking,  no  doubt,  he  might  touch  on  a  drag, 
should  Reynard  have  been  abroad  in  the  night.  Hounds 
have  no  business  to  think ,  thinks  the  second  whipper-in, 
who  observes  him  ;  but  one  crack  of  his  whip,  with 
1  Rasselas,  Rasselas,  where  are  you  going,  Rasselas  ?  Get 
to  cover,  Rasselas  !  '  and  Rasselas  immediately  disappears. 
Five  minutes  more  pass  away.  '  No  fox  here,'  says  one. 
164 


'  Don't  be  in  a  hurry/  cried  Mr.  Craddock ; l  l  they  are 
drawing  it  beautifully,  and  there  is  rare  lying  in  it.*  These 
words  are  scarcely  uttered,  when  the  cover  shakes  more 
than  ever.  Every  stem  appears  alive,  and  it  reminds  us  of 
a  corn-field  waving  in  the  wind.  In  two  minutes  the  sterns 
of  some  more  hounds  are  seen  *  flourishing  '  '  above  the 
gorse.  *  Have  at  him  there*  holloas  the  Squire  3 — the  gorse 
still  more  alive,  and  hounds  leaping  over  each  other's  backs. 
1  Have  at  him  there  again,  my  good  hounds  ;  a  fox  for  a 
hundred  !  '  reiterates  the  Squire  ;  putting  his  finger  in  his 
ear,  and  uttering  a  scream  which,  not  being  set  to  music, 
we  cannot  give  here.  Jack  Stevens  (the  first  whipper-in) 
looks  at  his  watch.  At  this  moment  '  John  White,'  '  Val 
Maher,'  *  Frank  Holyoake  '  (who  will  pardon  us  for  giving 
them  their  noms-de-chasse)?  and  two  or  three  more  of  the 
fast  ones,  are  seen  creeping  gently  on  towards  a  point  at 
which  they  think  it  probable  he  may  break.  '  Hold  hard, 
there,'  says  a  sportsman  ;  but  he  might  as  well  speak  to  the 
wind.  '  Stand  still,  gentlemen  !  pray  stand  still,'  exclaims 

1  This  gentleman  resided  within  the  limits  of  the  Quorn  hunt,  and  kindly 
superintended  the  management  of  the  covers.     He  has  lately  paid  the  debt 
of  nature. 

2  Technical,  for  the  motion  of  a  hound's  stern  or  tail,  when  he  first  feels 
a  scent,  but  is  not  sufficiently  confident  to  own,  or  acknowledge  it. 

3  When  Mr.  Osbaldeston  had  the  Quorn  hounds,  three  of  the  four  packs 
which  hunted  in  the  same  county  with  his  own  were  the  property  of  noble- 
men ;  so,  for  the  sake  of  distinction,  his  friends  conferred  on  him  the  familiar 
title  of  '  the  Squire.' 

4  John  White,  Esq.,  of  Park  Hall,  Derbyshire  ;    Valentine  Maher,  Esq., 
a  member  of  the  Old  Club  ;  and  Francis  Lyttleton  Holyoake,  Esq.,  of  Studley 
Castle,  Worcestershire,  but  now  Sir  Francis  Holyoake  Goodricke,  having 
succeeded  to  the  title  and  estates  of  the  late  Sir  Harry  Goodricke. 

165 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

the  huntsman  ;  he  might  as  well  say  so  to  the  sun.  During 
the  time  we  have  been  speaking  of,  all  the  field  have  been 
awake — gloves  put  on — cigars  thrown  away — the  bridle- 
reins  gathered  well  up  into  the  hand,  and  hats  pushed  down 
upon  the  brow. 

At  this  interesting  period  a  Snob,1  just  arrived  from  a 
very  rural  country,  and  unknown  to  any  one,  but  determined 
to  witness  the  start,  gets  into  a  conspicuous  situation. 
'  Come  away,  sir ! '  holloas  the  master  (little  suspecting  that 
the  Snob  may  be  nothing  less  than  one  of  the  Quarterly 
Reviewers 2) ;  *  what  mischief  are  you  doing  there  ?  Do  you 
think  you  can  catch  the  fox  ?  '  A  breathless  silence  ensues. 
At  length  a  whimper  is  heard  in  the  cover — like  the  voice 
of  a  dog  in  a  dream  :  it  is  Flourisher,3  and  the  Squire  cheers 
him  to  the  echo.  In  an  instant  a  hound  challenges — and 
another — and  another.  Tis  enough.  *  Tallyho  !  '  cries  a 
countryman  in  a  tree.  *  He 's  gone/  exclaims  Lord 
Alvanley  :  and,  clapping  his  spurs  to  his  horse,  in  an  instant 
is  in  the  front  rank. 

As  all  good  sportsmen  would  say,  'Ware  hounds  !  ' 
cries  Sir  Harry  Goodricke.  '  Give  them  time,5  exclaims 
Mr.  John  Moore.  *  That 's  right/  says  Mr.  Osbaldeston, 
*  spoil  your  own  sport  as  usual/  *  Go  along'  roars  out 

1  We  know  nothing  of  the  derivation  of  the  word  '  Snob,'  unless  it  be  in 
contradistinction  to  Nob  ;  it  is  certainly  not  a  classical  one,  but  either  that  or 
Tiger  is  too  often  applied  to  a  total  stranger  who  ventures  to  show  himself  in 
the  '  swell  countries  '  as  they  are  called. 

2  This  essay  originally  appeared  in  the  '  Quarterly  Review.' 

3  A  noted  finder,  now  in  Mr.  Osbaldeston 's  pack. 

1 66 


'Nimrod 5 

Mr.  Holyoake,  c  there  are  three  couple  of  hounds  on  the 
scent.'  '  That  's  your  sort/  says  Billy  Coke,1  coming  up 
at  the  rate  of  thirty  miles  an  hour  on  Advance,  with  a  label 
pinned  on  his  back,  *  he  kicks  '  ;  *  the  rest  are  all  coming, 
and  there  's  a  rare  scent  to-day,  I  'm  sure/  Bonaparte's 
Old  Guard,  in  its  best  days,  would  not  have  stopped  such 
men  as  these,  so  long  as  life  remained  in  them. 

Only  those  who  have  witnessed  it  can  know  in  what  an 
extraordinary  manner  hounds  that  are  left  behind  in  a 
cover  make  their  way  through  a  crowd,  and  get  up  to  the 
leading  ones  of  the  pack,  which  have  been  fortunate  in 
getting  away  with  their  fox.  It  is  true  they  possess  the 
speed  of  a  race-horse  ;  still,  nothing  short  of  their  high 
mettle  could  induce  them  to  thread  their  way  through  a 
body  of  horsemen  going  the  best  pace,  with  the  prospect 
of  being  ridden  over  and  maimed  at  every  stride  they  take. 
But,  as  Beckford  observes,  '  'Tis  the  dash  of  the  foxhound 
which  distinguishes  him.'  A  turn,  however,  in  their  favour, 
or  a  momentary  loss  of  scent  in  the  few  hounds  that  have 
shot  ahead — an  occurrence  to  be  looked  for  on  such  occa- 
sions— joins  head  and  tail  together,  and  the  scent  being 
good,  every  hound  settles  to  his  fox  ;  the  pace  gradually 
improves  ;  vires  acquirit  eundo ;  a  terrible  burst  is  the 
result ! 

At  the  end  of  nineteen  minutes  the  hounds  come  to  a 
fault,  and  for  a  moment  the  fox  has  a  chance — in  fact,  they 

1  Nephew  to  Mr.  Coke  of  Holkham  ;    his  famous  horse  Advance  was 
dangerous  in  a  crowd,  and  hence  the  necessity  of  a  label. 

167 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

have  been  pressed  upon  by  the  horses,  and  have  rather 
overrun  the  scent.  '  What  a  pity ! '  says  one.  '  What  a 
shame  !  '  cries  another  ;  alluding,  perhaps,  to  a  young  one, 
who  would  and  could  have  gone  faster.  '  You  may  thank 
yourselves  for  this/  exclaims  Osbaldeston,  well  up  at  the 
time,  Ashton  1  looking  fresh  ;  but  only  fourteen  men  of  the 
two  hundred  are  to  be  counted  ;  all  the  rest  coming.  At 
one  blast  of  the  horn,  the  hounds  are  back  to  the  point  at 
which  the  scent  has  failed,  Jack  Stevens  being  in  his  place 
to  turn  them.  '  Yo  doit !  Pastime,'  says  the  Squire,  as 
she  feathers  her  stern  down  the  hedge-row,  looking  more 
beautiful  than  ever.  She  speaks  !  *  Worth  a  thousand,  by 
Jupiter  !  '  cries  John  White,  looking  over  his  left  shoulder, 
as  he  sends  both  spurs  into  Buxton,  delighted  to  see  only 
four  more  of  the  field  are  up.  Our  Snob,  however,  is 
amongst  them.  He  has  *  gone  a  good  one/  and  his  counte- 
nance is  expressive  of  delight,  as  he  urges  his  horse  to  his 
speed  to  get  again  into  a  front  place. 

The  pencil  of  a  painter  is  now  wanting  ;  and  unless  the 
painter  should  be  a  sportsman,  even  his  pencil  would  be 
worth  little.  What  a  country  is  before  him  ! — what  a 
panorama  does  it  represent !  Not  a  field  of  less  than  forty — 
some  a  hundred — acres,  and  no  more  signs  of  the  plough 
than  in  the  wilds  of  Siberia.  See  the  hounds  in  a  body 
that  might  be  covered  by  a  damask  table-cloth — every  stern 
down,  and  every  head  up,  for  there  is  no  need  of  stooping, 

1  Mr.  Osbaldeston  sold  Ashton  to  Lord  Plymouth  for  four  hundred  guineas, 
after  having  ridden  him  six  seasons. 

1 68 


^Nimrod 5 

the  scent  lying  breast-high.  But  the  crash  ! — the  music  ! — 
how  to  describe  these  ?  Reader,  there  is  no  crash  now,  and 
not  much  music.  It  is  the  tinker  that  makes  great  noise 
over  a  little  work  ;  but  at  the  pace  these  hounds  are  going 
there  is  no  time  for  babbling.  Perchance  one  hound  in 
five  may  throw  his  tongue  as  he  goes,  to  inform  his  com- 
rades, as  it  were,  that  the  villain  is  on  before  them,  and 
most  musically  do  the  light  notes  of  Vocal  and  Venus  fall 
on  the  ear  of  those  who  may  be  within  reach  to  catch  them. 
But  who  is  so  fortunate  in  this  second  burst,  nearly  as  terrible 
as  the  first  ?  Our  fancy  supplies  us  again,  and  we  think 
we  could  name  them  all.  If  we  look  to  the  left,  nearly 
abreast  of  the  pack,  we  see  six  men  going  gallantly,  and 
quite  as  straight  as  the  hounds  themselves  are  going,  and  on 
the  right  are  four  more,  riding  equally  well,  though  the 
former  have  rather  the  best  of  it,  owing  to  having  had  the 
inside  of  the  hounds  at  the  last  two  turns,  which  must  be 
placed  to  the  chapter  of  accidents.  A  short  way  in  the  rear, 
by  no  means  too  much  so  to  enjoy  this  brilliant  run,  are  the 
rest  of  the  dlite  of  the  field,  who  had  come  up  at  the  first 
check  ;  and  a  few  who,  thanks  to  the  goodness  of  their 
steeds,  and  their  determination  to  be  with  the  hounds, 
appear  as  if  dropped  from  the  clouds.  Some,  however,  begin 
to  show  symptoms  of  distress.  Two  horses  are  seen  loose 
in  the  distance — a  report  is  flying  about  that  one  of  the 
field  is  badly  hurt,  and  something  is  heard  of  a  collar- 
bone being  broken,  others  say  it  is  a  leg  ;  but  the  pace  is 
too  good  to  inquire.  A  cracking  of  rails  is  now  heard,  and 

169 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

one  gentleman's  horse  is  to  be  seen  resting,  nearly  balanced, 
across  one  of  them,  his  rider  being  on  his  back  in  the  ditch, 
which  is  on  the  landing  side.  '  Who  is  he  ?  '  says  Lord 
Brudenel  to  Jack  Stevens.  c  Can't  tell,  my  lord  ;  but  I 
thought  it  was  a  queerish  place  when  I  came  o'er  it  before 
him.'  It  is  evidently  a  case  of  peril,  but  the  pace  is  too  good 
to  afford  help. 

Up  to  this  time  '  Snob  '  has  gone  quite  in  the  first  flight ; 
the  *  Dons  '  begin  to  eye  him,  and,  when  an  opportunity 
offers,  the  question  is  asked — *  Who  is  that  fellow  on  the 
little  bay  horse  ?  '  *  Don't  know  him,'  says  Mr.  Little 
Gilmour  (a  fourteen-stone  Scotchman,  by-the-by),  ganging 
gallantly  to  his  hounds.  *  He  can  ride,'  exclaims  Lord 
Rancliffe.  *  A  tip-top  provincial,  depend  upon  it,'  added 
Lord  Plymouth,  going  quite  at  his  ease  on  a  thorough-bred 
nag,  three  stone  above  his  weight,  and  in  perfect  racing 
trim.  Animal  nature,  however,  will  cry  '  enough,'  how 
good  soever  she  may  be,  if  unreasonable  man  press  her 
beyond  the  point.  The  line  of  scent  lies  right  athwart  a 
large  grass  ground  (as  a  field  is  termed  in  Leicestershire), 
somewhat  on  the  ascent  ;  abounding  in  ant-hills,  or  hillocks, 
peculiar  to  old  grazing  land,  and  thrown  up  by  the  plough 
some  hundred  years  since,  into  rather  high  ridges,  with 
deep,  holding  furrows  between  each.  The  fence  at  the 
top  is  impracticable — Meltonice,  *  a  stoper  ' ;  nothing  for  it 
but  a  gate,  leading  into  a  broad  green  lane,  high  and  strong, 
with  deep  slippery  ground  on  each  side  of  it.  '  Now  for 
the  timber-jumper,'  cries  Osbaldeston,  pleased  to  find 
170 


^Nimrod ' 

himself  upon  Ashton.  '  For  Heaven's  sake,  take  care  of 
my  hounds,  in  case  they  may  throw  up  in  the  lane.'  Snob 
is  here  in  the  best  company,  and  that  moment  perhaps  the 
happiest  of  his  life  ;  but,  not  satisfied  with  his  situation, 
wishing  to  out-Herod  Herod,  and  to  have  a  fine  story  to  tell 
when  he  gets  home,  he  pushes  to  his  speed  on  ground  on 
which  all  regular  Leicestershire  men  are  careful,  and  the 
death-warrant  of  the  little  bay  horse  is  signed.  It  is  true 
he  gets  first  to  the  gate,  and  has  no  idea  of  opening  it ;  sees 
it  contains  five  new  and  strong  bars,  that  will  neither  bend 
nor  break  ;  has  a  great  idea  of  a  fall,  but  no  idea  of  refusing, 
presses  his  hat  firmly  on  his  head,  and  gets  his  whip-hand 
at  liberty  to  give  the  good  little  nag  a  refresher  ;  but  all  at 
once  he  perceives  it  will  not  do.  When  attempting  to 
collect  him  for  the  effort,  he  finds  his  mouth  dead  and  his 
neck  stiff  ;  fancies  he  hears  something  like  a  wheezing  in 
his  throat  ;  and  discovering  quite  unexpectedly  that  the 
gate  would  open,  wisely  avoids  a  fall,  which  was  booked 
had  he  attempted  to  leap  it.  He  pulls  up,  then,  at  the 
gate  ;  and  as  he  places  the  hook  of  his  whip  under  the 
latch,  John  White  goes  over  it  close  to  the  hinge-post,  and 
Captain  Ross,  upon  Clinker,  follows  him.  The  Reviewer 
then  walks  through. 

The  scene  now  shifts.  On  the  other  side  of  the  lane  is 
a  fence  of  this  description  :  it  is  a  newly  plashed  hedge, 
abounding  in  strong  growers,  as  they  are  called,  and  a 
yawning  ditch  on  the  other  side  ;  but  as  is  peculiar  to 
Leicestershire  and  Northamptonshire,  a  considerable  por- 

171 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

tion  of  the  blackthorn,   left  uncut,  leans   outwards  from 
the  hedge,  somewhat  about  breast-high.    This  large  fence 
is  taken  by  all  now  with  the  hounds — some  to  the  right  and 
some  to  the  left  of  the  direct  line  ;   but  the  little  bay  horse 
would  have  no  more  of  it.     Snob  puts  him  twice  at  it,  and 
manfully  too,  but  the  wind  is  out  of  him,  and  he  has  no 
power  to  rise.     Several  scrambles,  but  only  one  fall,  occur 
at  this  *  rasper/  all  having  nearly  enough  of  the  killing  pace  ; 
and  a  mile  and  a  half  further,  the  second  horses  are  fallen 
in  with,  just  in  the  nick  of  time.    A  short  check  from  the 
stain    of    sheep   makes    everything    comfortable,   and    the 
Squire   having   hit   off   his   fox  like   a  workman,  thirteen 
men,  out  of  two  hundred,  are  fresh  mounted  and  with  the 
hounds,  which  settle  to  the  scent  again  at  a  truly  killing  pace. 
*  Hold  hardy  Holyoake  !  '  exclaims  Mr.  Osbaldeston  (now 
mounted  on  dasher),  knowing  what  double-quick  time  he 
would  be  marching  to,  with  fresh  pipes  to  play  upon  and 
the  crowd  well  shaken  off  ;  *  pray  don't  press  'em  too  hard, 
and  we  shall  be  sure  to  kill  our  fox.1    Have  at  him  there, 
Abigail  and  Fickle,  good  bitches  ! — see  what  a  head  they  are 
carrying  !     I  '11  bet  a  thousand  they  kill  him.'    The  country 
appears  better  and  better.    *  He  's  taking  a  capital  line,' 
exclaims  Sir  Harry  Goodricke,  as  he  points  out  to  Sir  James 
Musgrave  two  young  Furrier  hounds,  who  are  particularly 
distinguishing  themselves  at  the  moment.    '  Worth  a  dozen 
Reform  Bills,'  shouts  Sir  Francis  Burdett,  sitting  erect  upon 

1  One  peculiar  excellence  in  Mr.  Osbaldeston's  hounds  was  their  steadi- 
ness under  pressure  by  the  crowd. 

172 


"THE    LITTLE    BAY    HORSE   WOULD    HAVE    NO    MORE   OF    IT. 


^Nimrod ! 

Sampson,1  and  putting  his  head  straight  at  a  yawner.  '  We 
shall  have  the  Whissendine  brook/  cries  Mr.  Maher,  who 
knows  every  field  in  the  country,  *  for  he  is  making  straight 
for  Teigh.'  *  And  a  bumper,  too,  after  last  night's  rain,' 
holloas  Captain  Berkeley,  determined  to  get  first  to  four 
stiff  rails  in  a  corner.  *  So  much  the  better/  says  Lord 
Alvanley,  *  I  like  a  bumper  at  all  times.'  *  A  fig  for  the 
Whissendine/  cries  Lord  Gardner  ;  *  I  am  on  the  best 
water-jumper  in  my  stable/ 

,  The  prophecy  turns  up.  Having  skirted  Ranksborough 
Gorse,  the  villain  has  nowhere  to  stop  short  of  Woodwell 
Head  cover,  which  he  is  pointing  for ;  and  in  ten  minutes, 
or  less,  the  brook  appears  in  view.  It  is  even  with  its  banks, 
and  as 

'  Smooth  glides  the  water  where  the  brook  is  deep/ 

its  deepness  was  pretty  certain  to  be  fathomed. 

'  Yooiy  OVER  he  goes  \ '  holloas  the  Squire,  as  he  perceives 
Joker  and  Jewell  plunging  into  the  stream,  and  Red-rose 
shaking  herself  on  the  opposite  bank.  Seven  men,  out  of 
thirteen,  take  it  in  their  stride  ;  three  stop  short,  their 
horses  refusing  the  first  time,  but  come  well  over  the  second  ; 
and  three  find  themselves  in  the  middle  of  it.  The  gallant 
*  Frank  Forester  '  is  among  the  latter  ;  and  having  been 
requested  that  morning  to  wear  a  friend's  new  red  coat, 
to  take  off  the  gloss  and  glare  of  the  shop,  he  accomplishes 
the  task  to  perfection  in  the  bluish-black  mud  of  the  Whis- 

1  A  favourite  hunter  of  the  baronet's  which  he  once  honoured  by  coming 
all  the  way  from  London  to  Melton  to  ride  one  day  with  hounds. 

173 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

sendine,  only  then  subsiding  after  a  three  days'  flood.1  *  Who 
is  that  under  his  horse  in  the  brook  ? '  inquires  that  good 
sportsman  and  fine  rider,  Mr.  Green,  of  Rolleston,  whose 
noted  old  mare  had  just  skimmed  over  the  water  like  a 
swallow  on  a  summer's  evening.  '  It 's  Middleton  Biddulph/ 
says  one.  '  Pardon  me/  cries  Mr.  Middleton  Biddulph  ; 

*  Middleton  Biddulph  is  here,  and  here  he  means  to  be ! ' 

*  Only  Dick  Christian/2  answers  Lord  Forester,  'and  it's 
nothing  new  to  him.'  *  But  he  '11  be  drowned/  exclaims  Lord 
Kinnaird.     *  I   shouldn't  wonder/   observes    Mr.   William 
Coke.     But  the  pace  is  too  good  to  inquire. 

The  fox  does  his  best  to  escape :  he  threads  hedge-rows, 
tries  the  out-buildings  of  a  farm-house,  and  once  turns  so 
short  as  nearly  to  run  his  foil,  but — the  perfection  of  the 
thing — the  hounds  turn  shorter  than  he  does,  as  much  as 
to  say — die  you  shall.  The  pace  has  been  awful  for  the  last 
twenty  minutes.  Three  horses  are  blown  to  a  standstill, 
and  few  are  going  at  their  ease.  *  Out  upon  this  great  car- 
case of  mine !  no  horse  that  was  ever  foaled  can  live  under 
it  at  this  pace,  and  over  this  country/  says  one  of  the  best 
welter-weights,  as  he  stands  over  his  four-hundred-guinea 
chestnut,  then  rising  from  the  ground  after  giving  him  a 
heavy  fall,  his  tail  nearly  erect  in  the  air,  his  nostrils  violently 
distended,  and  his  eye  almost  fixed.3 

1  A  true  story. 

2  A  celebrated  rough-rider  at  Melton  Mowbray,  who  greatly  distinguished 
himself  in  the  late  grand  steeplechase  from  Rolleston.     He  is  paid  fifteen 
shillings  per  day  for  riding  gentlemen's  young  horses  with  hounds. 

3  The  writer  here  alluded  to  that  celebrated  sportsman,  as  well  as  horse- 

174 


'Nimrod ' 

*  Not  hurt,  I  hope,'  exclaims  Mr.  Maxse,  to  somebody 
whom  he  gets  a  glimpse  of  through  the  openings  of  a  tall 
quickset-hedge  which  is  between  them,  coming  neck  and 
crop  into  the  adjoining  field,  from  the  top  bar  of  a  high, 
hog-backed  stile.  His  eye  might  have  been  spared  the 
unpleasing  sight,  had  not  his  ear  been  attracted  to  a  sort  of 
procumbit-humibos  sound  of  a  horse  falling  to  the  ground  on 
his  back,  the  bone  of  his  left  hip  indenting  the  greensward 
within  two  inches  of  his  rider's  thigh.  It  is  young  Peyton,1 
who,  having  missed  his  second  horse  at  the  check,  had  been 
going  nearly  half  the  way  in  distress  ;  but  from  nerve  and 
pluck,  perhaps  peculiar  to  Englishmen  in  the  hunting-field, 
but  very  peculiar  to  himself,  got  within  three  fields  of  the 
end  of  this  brilliant  run.  The  fall  was  all  but  a  certainty  ; 
for  it  was  the  third  stiff-timbered  fence  that  had  unfor- 
tunately opposed  him,  after  his  horse's  wind  had  been 
pumped  out  by  the  pace  ;  but  he  was  too  good  to  refuse 
them,  and  his  horse  knew  better  than  to  do  so. 

The  JEneid  of  Virgil  ends  with  a  death,  and  a  chace  is 
not  complete  without  it.  The  fox  dies  within  half  a  mile 
of  Woodwell  Head  cover,  evidently  his  point  from  the  first, 
the  pack  pulling  him  down  in  the  middle  of  a  large  grass 
field,  every  hound  but  one  at  his  brush.  Jack  Stevens  with 

man,  Mr.  Thomas  Edge  of  Nottinghamshire,  who  some  years  back  refused, 
from  the  late  Lord  Middleton,  the  enormous  sum  of  two  thousand  two  hundred 
pounds  for  two  of  his  horses,  and  on  another  occasion  fifty  pounds  for  the 
loan  of  one  of  them  during  the  first  run  of  the  day  from  a  certain  cover,  whether 
short  or  long. 

1  The  only  son  of  Sir  Henry  Peyton,  Bart.,  one  of  the  best  and  hardest 
riders  of  the  present  day. 

175 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

him  in  his  hands  would  be  a  subject  worthy  of  Edwin 
Landseer  himself  :  a  blackthorn,  which  has  laid  hold  of  his 
cheek,  has  besmeared  his  upper  garments  with  blood,  and 
one  side  of  his  head  and  cap  are  cased  in  mud,  by  a  fall  he 
has  had  in  a  lane,  his  horse  having  alighted  in  the  ruts  from 
a  high  flight  of  rails  ;  but  he  has  ridden  the  same  horse 
throughout  the  run,  and  has  handled  him  so  well  he  could 
have  gone  two  miles  further,  if  the  chace  had  been  continued 
so  long.  Osbaldeston's  '  Who-hoop  '  might  have  been  heard 
at  Cottesmore,  had  the  wind  set  in  that  direction,  and 
every  man  present  is  ecstatic  with  delight.  '  Quite  the 
cream  of  the  thing,  I  suppose/  says  Lord  Gardner,  a  very 
promising  young  one,  at  this  time  fresh  in  Leicestershire. 
'  The  cream  of  everything  in  the  shape  of  fox-hunting/ 
observes  that  excellent  sportsman  Sir  James  Musgrave, 
looking  at  that  moment  at  his  watch.  *  Just  ten  miles,  as 
the  crow  flies,  in  one  hour  and  two  minutes,  with  but  two 
trifling  checks,  over  the  finest  country  in  the  world.  What 
superb  hounds  are  these  !  '  added  the  baronet,  as  he  turned 
his  horse's  head  to  the  wind.  '  You  are  right/  says  Colonel 
Lowther,  '  they  are  perfect.  I  wish  my  father  had  seen 
them  do  their  work  to-day/  Some  of  the  field  now  come  up, 
who  could  not  live  in  the  first  flight ;  but,  as  there  is  no 
jealousy  here,  they  congratulate  each  other  on  the  fine  day's 
sport,  and  each  man  turns  his  head  towards  home. 

A  large  party  dine  this  evening  at  the  Old  Club,  where, 
of  course,   this  fine   run  is   discussed,   and   the   following 
accurate   description   of  it   is   given  by  one  of  the  oldest 
176 


^Nimrod 5 

members,  a  true  friend  to  fox-hunting,  and  to  all  mankind 
as  well l :  *  We  found  him,'  said  he,  *  at  Ashby  Pasture,  and  got 
away  with  him,  up  wind,  at  a  slapping  pace  over  Burrow 
Hill,  leaving  Thorpe  Trussels  to  the  right,  when  a  trifling 
check  occurred.  He  then  pointed  for  Ranksborough  Gorse, 
which  some  feared  and  others  hoped  he  might  hang  in  a 
little,  but  he  was  too  good  to  go  near  it.  Leaving  that  on 
his  right  also,  he  crossed  the  brook  to  Whissendine,  going 
within  half  a  mile  of  the  village,  and  then  he  had  nothing 
for  it  but  to  fly.  That  magnificent  country  in  the  direction 
of  Teigh  was  open  to  him,  and  he  showed  that  he  had  the 
courage  to  face  it.  Leaving  Teigh  on  the  right,  Woodwell 
Head  was  his  point,  and  in  two  more  fields  he  would  have 
reached  it.  Thus  we  found  him  in  the  Quorn  country  ; 
ran  him  over  the  finest  part  of  Lord  Lonsdale's,  and  killed 
him  on  the  borders  of  the  Belvoir.  Sir  Bellingham  Graham's 
hounds  once  gave  us  just  such  another  tickler,  from  the  same 
place,  and  in  the  same  time,  when  the  field  were  nearly  as 
much  beaten  as  they  were  to-day.' 

But  we  have  left  Snob  in  the  lane,  who,  after  casting  a 
longing  eye  towards  his  more  fortunate  companions,  who 
were  still  keeping  well  in  with  the  hounds,  throws  the  rein 
over  the  neck  of  the  good  little  bay  horse,  and,  walking  by 
his  side,  that  he  may  recover  his  wind,  inquires  his  way  to 
Melton.  Having  no  one  to  converse  with,  he  thus  solilo- 
quises as  he  goes  :  '  What  a  dolt  have  I  been,  to  spend  five 
hundred  a  year  on  my  stable,  in  any  country  than  this  !  But 

1  The  writer  here  alluded  to  Mr.  John  Moore. 
M  177 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

stop  a  little  ;  how  is  it  that  7,  weighing  but  eleven  stone  four 
pounds  with  my  saddle,  and  upon  my  best  horse,  an  acknow- 
ledged good  one  in  my  own  country,  could  neither  go  so 
fast  nor  so  long  as  that  heavy  fellow  Maxse  ;  that  still  heavier 
Lord  Alvanley ;  and  that  monster  Tom  Edge,  who,  they  tell 
me,  weighs  eighteen  stone,  at  least,  in  the  scales  ?  '  At  this 
moment  a  bridle-gate  opens  in  the  land,  and  a  gentleman  in 
scarlet  appears,  with  his  countenance  pale  and  wan,  and 
expressive  of  severe  pain.  It  is  he  who  had  been  dug  out 
of  the  ditch  in  which  Jack  Stevens  had  left  him,  his  horse 
having  fallen  upon  him,  after  being  suspended  on  the  rail, 
and  broken  three  of  his  ribs.  Feeling  extremely  unwell, 
he  is  glad  to  meet  with  Snob,  who  is  going  his  road — to 
Melton — and  who  offers  him  all  the  assistance  in  his  power. 
Snob  also  repeats  to  him  his  soliloquy,  at  least  the  sum  and 
substance  of  it,  on  which  the  gentleman — recovering  a  little 
from  his  faintness  by  the  help  of  a  glass  of  brandy  and 
water  at  the  village — thus  makes  his  comment :  *  I  think, 
sir,  you  are  a  stranger  to  this  part  of  the  world.'  '  Certainly/ 
replied  Snob,  '  it  is  my  first  appearance  in  Leicestershire/ 
*  I  observed  you  in  the  run,'  continued  the  wounded  sports- 
man ;  *  and  very  well  you  went  up  to  the  time  I  fell,  but 
particularly  so  to  the  first  check.  You  then  rode  to  a  leader, 
and  made  an  excellent  choice  ;  but  after  that  period,  I  saw 
you  not  only  attempting  a  line  of  your  own,  but  taking 
liberties  with  your  horse,  and  anticipated  the  fate  you  have 
met  with.  If  you  remain  with  us  long,  you  will  be  sure  to 
find  out  that  riding  to  hounds  in  Leicestershire  is  different 


^Nimrod 5 

from  what  it  is  in  most  other  countries  in  England,  and 
requires  a  little  apprenticeship.  There  is  much  choice 
of  ground  ;  and  if  this  choice  be  not  judiciously  made, 
and  coupled  with  a  cautious  observance  of  pace,  a 
horse  is  beaten  in  a  very  short  time.  If  you  doubt  my 
creed,  look  to  the  events  of  this  memorable  day.'  Snob 
thanks  him  for  his  hints,  and  notes  them  in  his  book  of 
memory. 

The  fame  of  Snob  and  his  little  bay  horse  reaches  Melton 
before  he  walks  in  himself.  *  That  provincial  fellow  did  not 
go  amiss  to-day, '  says  one.  '  Who  was  that  rural-looking  man 
on  a  neatish  bay  horse — all  but  his  tail — who  was  so  well  with 
us  at  the  first  check  ?  '  asks  another,  who  himself  could  not 
get  to  the  end,  although  he  went  '  a  good  one/  three  parts 
of  the  way.  There  is  no  one  present  to  answer  these  ques- 
tions ;  but  the  next  day,  and  the  next,  Snob  is  in  the  field 
again,  and  again  in  a  good  place.  Further  inquiries  are 
made,  and  satisfactory  information  obtained.  On  the  fourth 
day,  a  nod  from  one,  a  *  how  do  you  do  ?  '  from  another, 
1  a  fine  morning  '  from  a  third — are  tokens  good-humouredly 
bestowed  upon  him  by  some  of  the  leading  men  ;  and  on 
the  fifth  day,  after  a  capital  half-hour,  in  which  he  has  again 
distinguished  himself,  a  noble  bon-vivant  *  thus  addresses 
him — '  Perhaps,  sir,  you  would  like  to  dine  with  me  to-day  ; 
I  shall  be  happy  to  see  you  at  seven.' 

'  Covers,'  he  writes  next  day  to  some  friend  in  his  remote 
^western  province,  '  were  laid  for  eight,  the  favourite  number 
1  The  writer  here  alluded  to  Lord  Alvanley. 

179 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

of  our  late  king  ;  and,  perhaps  His  Majesty  never  sat  down 
to  a  better-dressed  dinner  in  his  life.  To  my  surprise,  the 
subject  of  fox-hunting  was  named  but  once  during  the  even- 
ing, and  that  was  when  an  order  was  given  that  a  servant 
might  be  sent  to  inquire  after  a  gentleman  who  had  had  a 
severe  fall  that  morning  over  some  timber  ;  and  to  ask,  by 
the  way,  if  Dick  Christian  came  alive  out  of  a  ditch,  in  which 
he  had  been  left,  with  a  clever  young  thorough-bred  one  on 
the  top  of  him.'  The  writer  proceeds  to  describe  an  evening 
in  which  wit  and  music  were  more  thought  of  than  wine — 
and  presenting  in  all  respects  a  perfect  contrast  to  the  old 
notions  of  a  fox-hunting  society  : — but  we  have  already 
trespassed  on  delicate  ground. 

It  is  this  union  of  the  elegant  repose  of  life  with  the 
energetic  sports  of  the  field  that  constitutes  the  charm  of 
Melton  Mowbray  ;  and  who  can  wonder  that  young  gentle- 
men, united  by  profession,  should  be  induced  to  devote  a 
season  or  two  to  such  a  course  of  existence  ?  We  must  not, 
however,  leave  the  subject  without  expressing  our  regret 
that  resorting,  year  after  year,  to  this  metropolis  of  the  chace, 
should  seem  at  all  likely  to  become  a  fashion  with  persons 
whose  hereditary  possessions  lie  far  from  its  allurements. 
It  is  all  very  well  to  go  through  the  training  of  the  acknow- 
ledged school  of  '  the  craft/  but  the  country  gentleman  who 
understands  his  duties,  and  in  what  the  real  permanent 
pleasure  of  life  exists,  will  never  settle  down  into  a  regular 
Meltonian.  He  will  feel  that  his  first  concern  is  with  his 
own  proper  district,  and  seek  the  recreations  of  the  chace,. 

1 80 


^Nimrod ' 

if  his  taste  for  them  outlives  the  first  heyday  of  youth, 
among  the  scenes,  however  comparatively  rude,  in  which 
his  natural  place  has  been  appointed. 


THE  ROAD 

'  Sunt  quos  curriculo,'  etc. — HORACE. 

Even  at  the  present  wonder-working  period,  few  greater 
improvements  have  been  made  in  any  of  the  useful  arts, 
than  in  those  applied  to  the  system  of  travelling  by  land. 
Projectors  and  projects  have  multiplied  with  our  years ;  and 
the  fairy-petted  princes  of  the  * Arabian  Nights'  Entertain- 
ments '  were  scarcely  transported  from  place  to  place  with 
more  facility  or  despatch,  than  Englishmen  are  at  the  present 
moment.  From  Liverpool  to  Manchester,  thirty-six  miles, 
in  an  hour  and  a  half ! — surely  Daedalus  is  come  amongst 
us  again  ;  but  we  will,  for  the  present,  confine  our  observa- 
tions to  the  road ;  to  coaches,  coach-horses,  coachmen,  and 
coach-masters.  We  are  not  thinking  of  the  travelling 
chariot  and  four — though,  to  be  sure,  the  report  given  us  of 
Lord  Londonderry's  speaking  in  the  House  of  Peers  one 
night,  and  being  at  his  own  house  in  Durham  the  next 
(two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  off),  is  astonishing,  and  was 
a  performance  that  no  other  country  under  the  sun  could 
accomplish  ;  yet  bribes  to  postilions  and  extra  relays  of 
horses  might  have  been  called  in  aid  here.  We  shall,  there- 

181 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

fore,  confine  ourselves,  at  present,  to  the  usual  course  of 
public  conveyances  ; — and  a  sentence  in  the  private  letter 
of  a  personal  friend  of  our  own  has  suggested  the  subject 
to  us.  'I  was  out  hunting/  he  writes,  '  last  season,  on  a 
Monday,  near  Brighton,  and  dined  with  my  father  in  Merrion 
Square,  Dublin,  at  six  o'clock  on  the  following  Wednesday — 
distance  four  hundred  miles  !  '  It  was  done  thus  : — he  went 
from  Brighton  in  an  afternoon  coach  that  set  him  down  in 
London  in  time  for  the  Holy  head  mail  ;  and  this  mail,  with 
the  help  of  the  steamer  to  cross  the  Channel,  delivered  him 
in  Dublin  at  the  time  mentioned.  But  expedition  alone  is 
not  our  boast.  Coach  travelling  is  no  longer  a  disgusting 
and  tedious  labour,  but  has  long  since  been  converted  into 
comparative  ease,  and  really  approaches  to  something  like 
luxury  ;  otherwise  it  could  never  have  had  any  chance  to 
engage  the  smallest  part  of  the  attention  of  that  genuine 
*  Epicuri  de  grege  porcus  ' — the  late  happily-named  Dr. 
Kitchener.1  It  is  difficult  to  determine  the  exact  period  at 
which  a  stage-coach  first  appeared  upon  the  road  ;  but  it 
seems  to  be  pretty  well  ascertained,  that  in  1662,  there  were 
but  six,  and  one  of  the  wise  men  of  those  days — John  Cross- 
well,  of  the  Charter  House — tried  his  best  to  write  them 
down.  It  was  supposed  he  had  the  countenance  of  the 
country  gentlemen,  who  were  afraid,  if  their  wives  could 
get  easily  and  cheaply  conveyed  to  London,  they  might  not 
settle  so  well  afterwards  to  their  domestic  duties  at  the  Hall 

1  Dr.  Johnson  boasted  of  having  travelled  from  London  to  Salisbury  in 
one  day,  by  the  common  stage,  '  hung,  high,  and  rough  '  ! 

182 


^Nimrod ' 

or  Grange.  We  will,  however,  only  go  back  ninety-four 
years.  In  1742,  the  Oxford  stage-coach  left  London  at 
seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  reached  Uxbridge  at 
mid-day.  It  arrived  at  High-Wycombe  at  five  in  the  evening, 
where  it  rested  for  the  night ;  and  proceeded  at  the  same 
rate  for  the  seat  of  learning  on  the  morrow.  Here,  then, 
were  ten  hours  consumed  each  day  in  travelling  twenty- 
seven  miles,  and  nearly  two  days  in  performing  what  is  now 
done  with  the  greatest  ease  under  six  hours.  To  go  from 
London  to  York — two  hundred  miles — used  to  take  six 
days  ;  it  now  occupies  twenty  hours  ! l  From  London  to 
Exeter,  eighty  years  ago,  the  proprietors  of  coaches  promised 

*  a  safe  and  expeditious  journey  in  a  fortnight.'    Private 
carriages  now  accomplish  the  journey — one  hundred  and 
seventy-five  miles — in  twenty  hours  ;    and  the  mail   (the 
Devonport)  in  seventeen,  passing  through  Wincaunton,  a 
new  route,  within  the  last  month.    The  Manchester  Tele- 
graph, from  the  Bull  and  Mouth,  performs  her  journey, 
with  the  utmost  regularity,  in  eighteen  hours  ! 

May  we  be  permitted,  since  we  have  mentioned  the 
'Arabian  Nights'  to  make  a  little  demand  on  our  readers' 
fancy,  and  suppose  it  possible  that  a  worthy  old  gentleman  of 
this  said  year — 1742 — had  fallen  comfortably  asleep,  a  la 
Dodswell,  and  never  awoke  till  Monday  last  in  Piccadilly  ? 

*  What  coach,  your  honour  ?  '  says  a  ruffianly-looking  fellow, 
much  like  what  he  might  have  been  had  he  lived  a  hundred 

1  According  to  Creech's  '  Fugitive  Pieces,'  there  was  only  one  coach  from 
Edinburgh  to  London,  which  was  from  twelve  to  sixteen  days  on  the  road. 

183 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

years  back.  *  I  wish  to  go  home  to  Exeter,'  replies  the  old 
gentleman,  mildly.  '  Just  in  time,  your  honour,  here  she 
comes — them  there  grey  horses  ;  where  's  your  luggage  ?  ' 

*  Don't  be  in  a  hurry/  observes  the  stranger  :    '  that  Js  a 
gentleman's  carriage  !  '    '  It  ain't  !   I  tell  you,'  says  the  cad  ; 

*  it  's  the  Comet,  and  you  must  be  as  quick  as  lightning.' 
Nolens  volens,  the  remonstrating  old  gentleman  is  shoved 
into  the  Comet  by  a  cad  at  each  elbow,  having  been  three 
times  assured  his  luggage  is  in  the  hind  boot,  and  twice 
three  times  denied  having  ocular  demonstration  of  the  fact. 

However,  he  is  now  seated  ;  and  '  What  gentleman  is 
going  to  drive  us  ?  '  is  his  first  question  to  his  fellow-pas- 
sengers. '  He  is  no  gentleman,  sir,'  says  a  person  who  sits 
opposite  to  him,  and  who  happens  to  be  a  proprietor  of  the 
coach.  '  He  has  been  on  the  Comet  ever  since  she  started, 
and  is  a  very  steady  young  man.'  '  Pardon  my  ignorance,' 
replies  the  regenerated  ;  '  from  the  cleanliness  of  his  person, 
the  neatness  of  his  apparel,  and  the  language  he  made  use 
of,  I  mistook  him  for  some  enthusiastic  bachelor  of  arts, 
wishing  to  become  a  charioteer  after  the  manner  of  the 
illustrious  ancients.'  '  You  must  have  been  long  in  foreign 
parts,  sir,'  observes  the  proprietor.  In  five  minutes,  or  less, 
after  this  parley  commenced  the  wheels  went  round,  and  in 
another  five  the  coach  arrived  at  Hyde  Park  gate  ;  but  long 
before  it  got  there,  the  worthy  gentleman  of  1742  (set  down 
by  his  fellow-travellers  for  either  a  little  cracked,  or  an 
emigrant  from  the  backwoods  of  America),  exclaimed, 
'  What !  off  the  stones  already  ?  '  *  You  have  never  been  on 
184 


^Nimrod : 

the  stones/  observes  his  neighbour  on  his  right ;  '  no 
stones  in  London  now,  sir/  *  Bless  me  !  '  quoth  our  friend, 
'  here  's  a  noble  house  !  to  whom  does  it  belong  ?  But 
why  those  broken  windows,  those  iron  blinds,  and  strong 
barricade  ?  '  *  It  is  the  Duke  of  Wellington's/  says  the 
coach -proprietor,  '  the  greatest  captain  since  the  days  of 
Scipio.  An  ungrateful  people  made  an  attack  upon  his  life, 
on  the  anniversary  of  the  day  upon  which  he  won  the  most 
important  battle  ever  fought  in  Europe.'  Here  a  passenger 
in  black  threw  out  something  about  Alcibiades,  which,  how- 
ever, the  rattle  made  it  impossible  to  understand.  *  But 
we  are  going  at  a  great  rate  !  '  exclaims  again  the  stranger. 
'  Oh  no,  sir/  says  the  proprietor,  '  we  never  go  fast  over 
this  stage  !  We  have  time  allowed  in  consequence  of  being 
subject  to  interruptions,  and  we  make  it  up  over  the  lower 
ground.'  Five  and  thirty  minutes,  however,  bring  them  to 
the  noted  town  of  Brentford.  '  Hah  !  '  says  the  old  man, 
becoming  young  again  ;  *  what !  no  improvement  in  this 
filthy  place  ?  Is  old  Brentford  still  here  ?  a  national  dis- 
grace !  Pray,  sir,  who  is  your  county  member  now  ?  '  *  His 
name  is  Hume,  sir/  was  the  reply.  '  The  modern  Hercules/ 
added  the  gentleman  on  the  right ;  *  the  real  cleanser  of 
the  Augean  stable.'  '  A  gentleman  of  large  property  in  the 
county,  /  presume,'  said  the  man  of  the  last  century.  *  Not 
an  acre/  replied  the  communicative  proprietor  :  *  a  Scotch- 

1  Nearly  on  the  site  occupied  by  Apsley  House  stood,  in  1742,  the  suburban 
inn,  the  Hercules'  Pillars,  where  Squire  Western  put  up  on  his  arrival  in  town 
in  quest  of  his  daughter  ;  and  from  whence,  by  the  by,  he  sent  back  his 
chaplain  several  stages  to  fetch  his  forgotten  tobacco-box  ! 

185 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

man  from  the  town  of  Montrose.'  *  Ay,  ay  ;  nothing  like 
the  high  road  to  London  for  those  Scotchmen.  A  great  city 
merchant,  no  doubt,  worth  a  plum  or  two.'  '  No  such 
thing,  sir/  quoth  the  other  ;  '  the  gentleman  was  a  doctor, 
and  made  his  fortune  in  the  Indies/  '  No  quack,  I  warrant 
you.'  The  proprietor  was  silent ;  but  the  clergyman  in  the 
corner  again  muttered  something  which  was  again  lost, 
owing  to  the  coach  coming  at  the  instant,  at  the  rate  of 
ten  miles  in  the  hour,  upon  the  vile  pavement  of  Brentford. 
In  five  minutes  under  the  hour  the  Comet  arrives  at 
Hounslow,  to  the  great  delight  of  our  friend,  who  by  this 
time  waxed  hungry,  not  having  broken  his  fast  before  start- 
ing. '  Just  fifty-five  minutes  and  thirty-seven  seconds,' 
says  he,  *  from  the  time  we  left  London  ! — wonderful  travel- 
ling, gentlemen,  to  be  sure,  but  much  too  fast  to  be  safe. 
However,  thank  Heaven,  we  are  arrived  at  a  good-looking 

house  ;  and  now,  waiter  !    I  hope  you  have  got  breakf ' 

Before  the  first  syllable,  however,  of  the  word  could  be  pro- 
nounced, the  worthy  old  gentleman's  head  struck  the  back 
of  the  coach  by  a  jerk,  which  he  could  not  account  for  (the 
fact  was,  three  of  the  four  fresh  horses  were  bolters),  and 
the  waiter,  the  inn,  and  indeed  Hounslow  itself  ('  terraeque 
urbesque  recedunt '),  disappeared  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 
Never  did  such  a  succession  of  doors,  windows,  and  window- 
shutters  pass  so  quickly  in  his  review  before — and  he  hoped 
they  might  never  do  so  again.  Recovering,  however,  a  little 
from  his  surprise — '  My  dear  sir,'  said  he,  *  you  told  me  we 
were  to  change  horses  at  Hounslow  ?  Surely  they  are  not 
186 


^Nimrod ' 

so  inhuman  as  to  drive  these  poor  animals  another  stage 
at  this  unmerciful  rate  ? '  *  Change  horses,  sir  ! '  says  the 
proprietor  ;  '  why,  we  changed  them  whilst  you  were  putting 
on  your  spectacles,  and  looking  at  your  watch.  Only  one 
minute  allowed  for  it  at  Hounslow,  and  it  is  often  done  in 
fifty  seconds  by  those  nimble-fingered  horse-keepers.'  '  You 
astonish  me  ! — but  really  I  do  not  like  to  go  so  fast.'  *  Oh, 
sir  !  we  always  spring  them  over  these  six  miles.  It  is  what 
we  call  the  hospital  ground'  This  alarming  phrase  is  pre- 
sently interpreted  :  it  intimates  that  horses  whose  *  backs 
are  getting  down  instead  of  up  in  their  work  ' — some  *  that 
won't  hold  an  ounce  down  hill,  or  draw  an  ounce  up  ' — 
others  '  that  kick  over  the  pole  one  day,  and  over  the  bars 
the  next ' — in  short,  all  the  reprobates,  styled  in  the  road 
slang  bo-kickers,  are  sent  to  work  these  six  miles,  because 
here  they  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  gallop — not  a  pebble 
as  big  as  a  nutmeg  on  the  road  ;  and  so  even,  that  it  would 
not  disturb  the  equilibrium  of  a  spirit-level. 

The  coach,  however,  goes  faster  and  faster  over  the 
hospital  ground ,  as  the  bo-kickers  feel  their  legs,  and  the 
collars  get  warm  to  their  shoulders  ;  and  having  ten  out- 
sides,  the  luggage  of  the  said  ten,  and  a  few  extra  packages 
besides  on  the  roof,  she  rolls  rather  more  than  is  pleasant, 
although  the  centre  of  gravity  is  pretty  well  kept  down  by 
four  not  slender  insides,  two  well-laden  boots,  and  three 
huge  trunks  in  the  slide.  The  gentleman  of  the  last  century, 
however,  becomes  alarmed — is  sure  the  horses  are  running 
away  with  the  coach — declares  he  perceives  by  the  shadow 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

that  there  is  nobody  on  the  box,  and  can  see  the  reins 
dangling  about  the  horses'  heels.  He  attempts  to  look  out 
of  the  window,  but  his  fellow-traveller  dissuades  him  from 
doing  so  : — *  You  may  get  a  shot  in  your  eye  from  the  wheel. 
Keep  your  head  in  the  coach  ;  it 's  all  right,  depend  on  't. 
We  always  spring  'em  over  this  stage.'  Persuasion  is  use- 
less ;  for  the  horses  increase  their  speed,  and  the  worthy 
old  gentleman  looks  out.  But  what  does  he  see  ?  Death 
and  destruction  before  his  eyes  ! — No  ;  to  his  surprise  he 
finds  the  coachman  firm  at  his  post,  and  in  the  act  of  taking 
a  pinch  of  snuff  from  the  gentleman  who  sits  beside  him 
on  the  bench ,  his  horses  going  at  the  rate  of  a  mile  in  three 
minutes  at  the  time.  *  But  suppose  anything  should  break, 
or  a  linchpin  should  give  way  and  let  a  wheel  loose  ?  '  is  the 
next  appeal  to  the  communicative,  but  not  very  consoling 
proprietor.  *  Nothing  can  break,  sir/  is  the  reply  :  *  all  of 
the  very  best  stuff  ;  axletrees  of  the  best  K.Q.  iron,  faggotted 
edgeways,  well  bedded  in  the  timbers  ;  and  as  to  linch- 
pins, we  have  not  one  about  the  coach.  We  use  the  best 
patent  boxes  that  are  manufactured.  In  short,  sir,  you  are 
as  safe  in  it  as  if  you  were  in  your  bed.'  '  Bless  me,'  ex- 
claims the  old  man,  *  what  improvements  !  And  the  roads  !  ' 
'  They  are  perfection,  sir,'  says  the  proprietor  :  '  no  horse 
walks  a  yard  in  this  coach  between  London  and  Exeter — all 
trotting-ground  now.'  c  A  little  galloping  ground,  I  fear,' 
whispers  the  senior  to  himself !  *  But  who  has  effected  all 
this  improvement  in  your  paving  ?  '  *  An  American  of  the 
name  of  JYTAdam,'  was  the  reply — *  but  coachmen  call  him 
1 88 


^Nimrod ' 

the  Colossus  of  Roads.  Great  things  have  likewise  been 
done  in  cutting  through  hills  and  altering  the  course  of 
roads  :  and  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  nowadays  to 
see  four  horses  trotting  away  merrily  down  hill  on  that 
very  ground  where  they  formerly  were  seen  walking  up 
hill.' l 

'  And  pray,  my  good  sir,  what  sort  of  horses  may  you 
have  over  the  next  stage  ?  '  *  Oh,  sir,  no  more  bo-kickers. 
It  is  hilly  and  severe  ground,  and  requires  cattle  strong 
and  staid.  You  '11  see  four  as  fine  horses  put  to  the  coach 
at  Staines  as  you  ever  saw  in  a  nobleman's  carriage  in  your 
life.'  '  Then  we  shall  have  no  more  galloping — no  more 
springing  them,  as  you  term  it  ?  '  *  Not  quite  so  fast  over 
the  next  ground,'  replied  the  proprietor  ;  '  but  he  will  make 
good  play  over  some  part  of  it  :  for  example,  when  he  gets 
three  parts  down  a  hill,  he  lets  them  loose,  and  cheats  them 
out  of  half  the  one  they  have  to  ascend  from  the  bottom  of 
it.  In  short,  they  are  half-way  up  it  before  a  horse  touches 
his  collar  ;  and  we  must  take  every  advantage  with  such  a 
fast  coach  as  this,  and  one  that  loads  so  well,  or  we  should 
never  keep  our  time.  We  are  now  to  a  minute  ;  in  fact, 
the  country  people  no  longer  look  at  the  sun  when  they 
want  to  set  their  clocks — they  look  only  to  the  Comet.  But, 
depend  upon  it,  you  are  quite  safe  ;  we  have  nothing  but 

1  Most  roads  through  hilly  countries  were  originally  struck  out  by  drivers 
of  pack-horses,  who,  to  avoid  bogs,  chose  the  upper  ground.  Consequently 
it  often  happened  that  point  B  was  lower  than  point  A  ;  yet  to  go  from  A  to  B 
the  traveller  ascended  a  hill  to  secure  sound  footing,  and  then  descended  to 
his  point. 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

first-rate  artists  on  this  coach/  *  Artist  !  artist !  '  grumbles 
the  old  gentleman  ;  '  we  had  no  such  term  as  that.' 

*  I  should  like  to  see  this  artist  change  horses  at  the 
next  stage/  resumes  our  ancient ;  '  for  at  the  last  it  had  the 
appearance  of  magic — "  Presto,  Jack,  and  begone  !  "  'By 
all  means  ;  you  will  be  much  gratified.  It  is  done  with  a 
quickness  and  ease  almost  incredible  to  any  one  who  has 
only  read  or  heard  of  it ;  not  a  buckle  nor  a  rein  is  touched 
twice,  and  still  all  is  made  secure  ;  but  use  becomes  second 
nature  with  us.  Even  in  my  younger  days  it  was  always  half 
an  hour's  work — sometimes  more.  There  was — "  Now, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  what  would  you  like  to  take  ?  There  's 
plenty  of  time,  while  the  horses  are  changing,  for  tea,  coffee, 
or  supper  ;  and  the  coachman  will  wait  for  you — won't  you, 
Mr.  Smith  ?  '  Then  Mr.  Smith  himself  was  in  no  hurry  ; 
he  had  a  lamb  about  his  coach  for  one  butcher  in  the  town, 
and  perhaps  half  a  calf  for  another  ;  a  barrel  of  oysters 
for  the  lawyer,  and  a  basket  of  game  for  the  parson,  all 
on  his  own  account.  In  short,  the  best  wheel  of  the 
coach  was  his,  and  he  could  not  be  otherwise  than 
accommodating . ' 

The  coach  arrived  at  Staines,  and  the  ancient  gentleman 
puts  his  intentions  into  effect — though  he  was  near  being 
again  too  late  ;  for  by  the  time  he  could  extract  his  hat  from 
the  netting  that  suspended  it  over  his  head,  the  leaders  had 
been  taken  from  their  bars,  and  were  walking  up  the  yard 
towards  their  stables.  On  perceiving  a  fine  thorough-bred 
horse  led  towards  the  coach  with  a  twitch  fastened  tightly 
190 


^Nitnrod 5 

to  his  nose,  he  exclaims,  *  Holloa,  Mr.  Horse-keeper  !  You 
are  going  to  put  an  unruly  horse  in  the  coach.'  '  What ! 
this  here  oss  ?  '  growls  the  man  ;  '  the  quietest  hanimal  alive, 
sir  !  '  as  he  shoves  him  to  the  near  side  of  the  pole.  At  this 
moment,  however,  the  coachman  is  heard  to  say  in  some- 
what of  an  undertone,  '  Mind  what  you  are  about,  Bob  ; 
don't  let  him  touch  the  roller-bolt.'  In  thirty  seconds  more, 
they  are  off — '  the  staid  and  steady  team,'  so  styled  by  the 
proprietor,  in  the  coach.  '  Let  'em  go,  and  take  care  of 
yourselves,'  says  the  artist,  so  soon  as  he  is  firmly  seated 
upon  his  box  ;  and  this  is  the  way  in  which  they  start.  The 
near  leader  rears  right  on  end,  and  if  the  rein  had  not  been 
yielded  to  him  at  the  instant,  he  would  have  fallen  backwards 
on  the  head  of  the  pole.  The  moment  the  twitch  was  taken 
from  the  nose  of  the  thorough-bred  near- wheeler,  he  drew 
himself  back  to  the  extent  of  his  pole-chain — his  forelegs 
stretched  out  before  him — and  then  like  a  lion  loosened  from 
his  toil,  made  a  snatch  at  the  coach  that  would  have  broken 
two  pairs  of  traces  of  1742.  A  steady  and  good- whipped 
horse,  however,  his  partner,  started  the  coach  himself,  with 
a  gentle  touch  of  the  thong,  and  away  they  went  off  together. 
But  the  thorough-bred  one  was  very  far  from  being  comfort- 
able ;  it  was  in  vain  that  the  coachman  tried  to  soothe  him 
with  his  voice,  or  stroked  him  with  the  crop  of  his  whip. 
He  drew  three  parts  of  the  coach,  and  cantered  for  the  first 
mile  ;  and  when  he  did  settle  down  to  his  trot,  his  snorting 
could  be  heard  by  the  passengers,  being  as  much  as  to  say, 
'  I  was  not  born  to  be  a  slave.'  In  fact,  as  the  proprietor 

191 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

now  observed,  '  he  had  been  a  fair  plate  horse  in  his  time, 
but  his  temper  was  always  queer.' 

After  the  first  shock  was  over,  the  Conservative  of  the 
eighteenth  century  felt  comfortable.  The  pace  was  con- 
siderably slower  than  it  had  been  over  the  last  stage,  but  he 
was  unconscious  of  the  reason  for  its  being  diminished.  It 
was  to  accommodate  the  queer  temper  of  the  race-horse,  who, 
if  he  had  not  been  humoured  at  starting,  would  never  have 
settled  down  to  his  trot,  but  have  ruffled  all  the  rest  of  the 
team.  He  was  also  surprised,  if  not  pleased,  at  the  quick 
rate  at  which  they  were  ascending  hills  which,  in  his  time, 
he  should  have  been  asked  by  the  coachman  to  have  walked 
up  :  but  his  pleasure  was  short-lived  ;  the  third  hill  they 
descended  produced  a  return  of  his  agony.  This  was  what 
is  termed  on  the  road  a  long  fall  of  ground,  and  the  coach 
rather  pressed  upon  the  horses.  The  temper  of  the  race- 
horse became  exhausted  ;  breaking  into  a  canter,  he  was  of 
little  use  as  a  wheeler,  and  there  was  then  nothing  for  it  but 
a  gallop.  The  leaders  only  wanted  the  signal  ;  and  the 
point  of  the  thong  being  thrown  lightly  over  their  backs, 
they  were  off  like  an  arrow  out  of  a  bow  ;  but  the  rocking 
of  the  coach  was  awful,  and  more  particularly  so  to  the 
passengers  on  the  roof.  Nevertheless,  she  was  not  in 
danger  ;  the  master-hand  of  the  artist  kept  her  in  a  direct  line, 
and  meeting  the  opposing  ground,  she  steadied,  and  all  was 
right.  The  newly-awakened  gentleman,  however,  begins 
to  grumble  again.  '  Pray,  my  good  sir,'  says  he  anxiously, 
*  do  use  your  authority  over  your  coachman,  and  insist  upon 
192 


LET  'KM  1:0,  THEN,"  QUOTH  THK  ARTIST,   "AND  TAKE  CAKE  or  YOURSELVES. 


^Nimrod ' 

his  putting  the  drag-chain  on  the  wheel  when  descending 
the  next  hill.'  '  I  have  no  such  authority/  replies  the  pro- 
prietor ;  '  it  is  true  we  are  now  drawn  by  my  horses,  but  I 
cannot  interfere  with  the  driving  of  them.'  *  But  is  he  not 
your  servant  ?  '  '  He  is,  sir,  but  I  contract  to  work  the 
coach  so  many  miles  in  so  many  hours,  and  he  engages  to 
drive  it,  and  each  is  subject  to  a  fine  if  the  time  be  not  kept 
on  the  road.  On  so  fast  a  coach  as  this,  every  advantage 
must  be  taken  ;  and  if  we  were  to  drag  down  such  hills  as 
these,  we  should  never  reach  Exeter  to-day/ 

Our  friend,  however,  will  have  no  more  of  it.  He  quits 
the  coach  at  Bagshot,  congratulating  himself  on  the  safety 
of  his  limbs.  Yet  he  takes  one  more  peep  at  the  change, 
which  is  done  with  the  same  despatch  as  before  :  three  greys 
and  a  piebald  replacing  three  chestnuts  and  a  bay — the 
harness  beautifully  clean,  and  the  ornaments  bright  as  the 
sun.  Not  a  word  is  spoken  by  the  passengers,  who  merely 
look  their  admiration  :  but  the  laconic  address  of  the  coach- 
man is  not  lost  on  the  by-standers.  '  Put  the  bay  mare  near 
wheel  this  evening,  and  the  stallion  up  to  the  cheek,'  said  he 
to  his  horse-keeper,  as  he  placed  his  right  foot  on  the  roller- 
bolt — i.e.  the  last  step  but  one  to  the  box.  *  How  is  Paddy's 
leg  ?  '  *  It 's  all  right,  sir/  replied  the  horse-keeper.  *  Let 
'em  go,  then/  quoth  the  artist,  '  and  take  care  of  yourselves.' 

The  worthy  old  gentleman  is  now  shown  into  a  room, 

and,  after  warming  his  hands  at  the  fire,  rings  the  bell  for 

the  waiter.    A  well  -  dressed  person  appears,  whom  he  of 

course  takes  for  the  landlord.    *  Pray,  sir/  says  he,  *  have 

N  193 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

you  any  slow  coach  down  this  road  to-day  ?  '  *  Why,  yes, 
sir/  replies  John  ;  *  we  shall  have  the  Regulator  down  in  an 
hour.'  *  Just  right/  said  our  friend  ;  *  it  will  enable  me  to 
break  my  fast,  which  I  have  not  done  to-day.'  *  Oh,  sir/ 
observes  John,  *  these  here  fast  drags  be  the  ruin  of  us. 
'Tis  all  hurry  scurry,  and  no  gentleman  has  time  to  have 
nothing  on  the  road.  What  will  you  take,  sir  ?  Mutton- 
chops,  veal-cutlets,  beef-steaks,  or  a  fowl  (to  kill)  ?  ' 

At  the  appointed  time  the  Regulator  appears  at  the  door. 
It  is  a  strong,  well-built  drag,  painted  what  is  called  chocolate 
colour,  bedaubed  all  over  with  gilt  letters — a  bull's  head  on 
the  doors,  a  Saracen's  head  on  the  hind  boot,  and  drawn  by 
four  strapping  horses  ;  but  it  wants  the  neatness  of  the 
other.  The  passengers  may  be,  by  a  shade  or  two,  of  a 
lower  order  than  those  who  had  gone  forward  by  the  Comet ; 
nor,  perhaps,  is  the  coachman  quite  so  refined  as  the  one 
we  have  just  taken  leave  of.  He  has  not  the  neat  white  hat, 
the  clean  doeskin  gloves,  the  well-cut  trousers,  the  dapper 
frock  ;  but  still  his  appearance  is  respectable,  and  perhaps, 
in  the  eyes  of  many,  more  in  character  with  his  calling. 
Neither  has  he  the  agility  of  the  artist  on  the  Comet,  for  he 
is  nearly  double  his  size  ;  but  he  is  a  strong,  powerful  man, 
and  might  be  called  a  pattern-card  of  the  heavy  coachmen 
of  the  present  day — in  other  words,  of  a  man  who  drives  a 
coach  which  carries  sixteen  passengers  instead  of  fourteen, 
and  is  rated  at  eight  miles  in  the  hour  instead  of  ten.  '  What 
room  in  the  Regulator  ?  '  says  our  friend  to  the  waiter,  as 
he  comes  to  announce  its  arrival.  *  Full  inside,  sir,  and  in 
194 


^Nimrod 5 

front ;  but  you  '11  have  the  gammon-board  all  to  yourself, 
and  your  luggage  is  in  the  hind  boot.'  '  Gammon-board  ! 
Pray,  what  Js  that  ?  Do  you  not  mean  the  basket  ?  J  '  Oh 
no,  sir,'  says  John,  smiling — '  no  such  a  thing  on  the  road 
now.  It  is  the  hind-dickey,  as  some  call  it,  where  you  '11 
be  as  comfortable  as  possible,  and  can  sit  with  your  back 
or  your  face  to  the  coach,  or  both,  if  you  like.'  *  Ah,  ah,' 
continues  the  old  gentleman  ;  *  something  new  again,  I 
presume.'  However,  the  mystery  is  cleared  up  ;  the  ladder 
is  reared  to  the  hind- wheel,  and  the  gentleman  seated  on 
the  gammon-board. 

Before  ascending  to  his  place,  our  friend  has  cast  his 
eye  on  the  team  that  is  about  to  convey  him  to  Hartford 
Bridge,  the  next  stage  on  the  great  western  road,  and  he 
perceives  it  to  be  of  a  different  stamp  from  that  which  he 
had  seen  taken  from  the  coach  at  Bagshot.  It  consisted  of 
four  moderate-sized  horses,  full  of  power,  and  still  fuller  of 
condition,  but  with  a  fair  sprinkling  of  blood  ;  in  short,  the 
eye  of  a  judge  would  have  discovered  something  about  them 
not  very  unlike  galloping.  '  All  right  !  '  cried  the  guard, 
taking  his  key-bugle  in  his  hand  ;  and  they  proceeded  up 
the  village  at  a  steady  pace,  to  the  tune  of  *  Scots  wha  hae 
wi'  Wallace  bled,'  and  continued  at  that  pace  for  the  first 
five  miles.  '  /  am  landed,'  thinks  our  friend  to  himself. 
Unluckily,  however,  for  the  humane  and  cautious  old  gentle- 
man, even  the  Regulator  was  about  to  show  tricks.  Although 
what  is  now  called  a  slow  coach,  she  is  timed  at  eight  miles 
in  the  hour  through  a  great  extent  of  country,  and  must, 

195 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

of  course,  make  play  where  she  can,  being  strongly  opposed 
by  hills  lower  down  the  country,  trifling  as  these  hills  are, 
no  doubt,  to  what  they  once  were.  The  Regulator,  more- 
over, loads  well,  not  only  with  passengers,  but  with  luggage  ; 
and  the  last  five  miles  of  this  stage,  called  the  Hartford 
Bridge  Flat,  have  the  reputation  of  being  the  best  five  miles 
for  a  coach  to  be  found  at  this  time  in  England.  The  ground 
is  firm,  the  surface  undulating,  and  therefore  favourable  to 
draught ;  always  dry,  not  a  shrub  being  near  it  ;  nor  is 
there  a  stone  upon  it  much  larger  than  a  marble.  These 
advantages,  then,  are  not  lost  to  the  Regulator,  or  made  use 
of  without  sore  discomposure  to  the  solitary  tenant  of  her 
gammon-board . 

Any  one  that  has  looked  into  books  will  very  readily 
account  for  the  lateral  motion,  or  rocking,  as  it  is  termed,  of 
a  coach,  being  greatest  at  the  greatest  distance  from  the 
horses  (as  the  tail  of  a  paper  kite  is  in  motion  whilst  the 
body  remains  at  rest)  ;  and  more  especially  when  laden  as 
this  coach  was — the  greater  part  of  the  weight  being  forward. 
The  situation  of  our  friend,  then,  was  once  more  deplorable. 
The  Regulator  takes  but  twenty-three  minutes  for  these 
celebrated  five  miles,  which  cannot  be  done  without '  spring- 
ing the  cattle  ' *  now  and  then  ;  and  it  was  in  one  of  the 
very  best  of  their  gallops  that  day,  that  they  were  met  by 
the  coachman  of  the  Comet,  who  was  returning  with  his  up 
coach.  When  coming  out  of  rival  yards,  coachmen  never 
fail  to  cast  an  eye  to  the  loading  of  their  opponents  on  the 
1  The  term  on  the  road  is  '  springing  them  ' — the  word  cattle  understood. 
196 


^Nimrod ' 

road,  and  now  that  of  the  natty  artist  of  the  Comet  experi- 
enced a  high  treat.  He  had  a  full  view  of  his  quondam 
passenger,  and  thus  described  his  situation.  He  was  seated 
with  his  back  to  the  horses — his  arms  extended  to  each 
extremity  of  the  guard-irons — his  teeth  set  grim  as  death — 
his  eyes  cast  down  towards  the  ground,  thinking  the  less  he 
saw  of  his  danger  the  better.  There  was  what  is  called  a 
top-heavy  load — perhaps  a  ton  of  luggage  on  the  roof,  and, 
it  may  be,  not  quite  in  obedience  to  the  act  of  parliament 
standard.  There  were  also  two  horses  at  wheel  whose 
strides  were  of  rather  unequal  length,  and  this  operated 
powerfully  on  the  coach.  In  short,  the  lurches  of  the 
Regulator  were  awful  at  the  moment  of  the  Comet  meeting 
her.  A  tyro  in  mechanics  would  have  exclaimed,  '  The 
centre  of  gravity  must  be  lost ;  the  centrifugal  force  will 
have  the  better  of  it — over  she  must  go  !  ' 

The  centre  of  gravity  having  been  preserved,  the  coach 
arrived  safe  at  Hartford  Bridge  ;  but  the  old  gentleman  has 
again  had  enough  of  it.  'I  will  walk  into  Devonshire,'  said 
he,  as  he  descended  from  his  perilous  exaltation.  *  What 
did  that  rascally  waiter  mean  by  telling  me  this  was  a  slow 
coach  ?  and,  moreover,  look  at  the  luggage  on  the  roof !  ' 
1  Only  regulation  height,  sir/  says  the  coachman  ;  *  we 
aren't  allowed  to  have  it  an  inch  higher  ;  sorry  we  can't 
please  you,  sir,  but  we  will  try  and  make  room  for  you  in 
front.'  '  Fronti  nulla  fides,'  mutters  the  worthy  to  himself 
as  he  walks  tremblingly  into  the  house — adding,  *  I  shall  not 
give  this  fellow  a  shilling  ;  he  is  dangerous* 

197 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

The  Regulator  being  off,  the  waiter  is  again  applied  to. 
4  What  do  you  charge  per  mile  posting  ?  '  *  One  and  six- 
pence,  sir.'  *  Bless  me  !  just  double  !  Let  me  see — two 
hundred  miles,  at  two  shillings  per  mile,  postboys,  turnpikes, 
etc.,  twenty  pounds.  This  will  never  do.  Have  you  no 
coach  that  does  not  carry  luggage  on  the  top  ?  *  *  Oh  yes, 
sir/  replies  the  waiter,  '  we  shall  have  one  to-night  that  is 
not  allowed  to  carry  a  band-box  on  the  roof.'  '  That 's  the 
coach  for  me  ;  pray  what  do  you  call  it  ?  '  '  The  Quick- 
silver mail,  sir  :  one  of  the  best  out  of  London — Jack  White 
and  Tom  Brown,  picked  coachmen,1  over  this  ground — Jack 
White  down  to-night.'  '  Guarded  and  lighted  ?  '  '  Both, 
sir  ;  blunderbuss  and  pistols  in  the  sword-case  ;  a  lamp 
each  side  the  coach,  and  one  under  the  footboard — see  to 
pick  up  a  pin  the  darkest  night  of  the  year.'  '  Very  fast  ?  ' 
*  Oh  no,  sir  ;  just  keeps  time  and  that 's  all.1  l  That  's  the 
coach  for  me,  then,'  repeats  our  hero  ;  '  and  I  am  sure  I 
shall  feel  at  my  ease  in  it.  I  suppose  it  is  what  used  to  be 
called  the  Old  Mercury.' 

Unfortunately,  the  Devonport  (commonly  called  the 
Quicksilver)  mail  is  half  a  mile  in  the  hour  faster  than  most 
in  England,  and  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  miracles  of  the  road. 
Let  us,  then,  picture  to  ourselves  our  anti-reformer  snugly 
seated  in  this  mail,  on  a  pitch-dark  night  in  November.  It 
is  true  she  has  no  luggage  on  the  roof,  nor  much  to  incommode 
her  elsewhere  ;  but  she  is  a  mile  in  the  hour  faster  than  the 

1  These  men  were  both  on  the  Quicksilver  mail,  and  both  first-rate  coach- 
men. 

198 


^Nimrod 3 

Comet,  at  least  three  miles  quicker  than  the  Regulator  ; 
and  she  performs  more  than  half  her  journey  by  lamplight.  It 
is  needless  to  say,  then,  our  senior  soon  finds  out  his  mistake  ; 
but  there  is  no  remedy  at  hand,  for  it  is  the  dead  of  the  night, 
and  all  the  inns  are  shut  up.  He  must  proceed,  or  be  left 
behind  in  a  stable.  The  climax  of  his  misfortunes  then 
approaches.  Nature  being  exhausted,  sleep  comes  to  his 
aid,  and  he  awakes  on  a  stage  which  is  called  the  fastest  on 
the  journey — it  is  four  miles  of  ground,  and  twelve  minutes 
is  the  time  !  The  old  gentleman  starts  from  his  seat,  having 
dreamed  the  horses  were  running  away  with  the  coach,  and 
so,  no  doubt,  they  might  be.  He  is,  however,  determined 
to  convince  himself  of  the  fact,  though  the  passengers 
assure  him  *  all  's  right.'  *  Don't  put  your  head  out  of  the 
window,'  says  one  of  them,  *  you  will  lose  your  hat  to  a 
certainty  '  ;  but  advice  is  seldom  listened  to  by  a  terrified 
man,  and  next  moment  a  stentorian  voice  is  heard,  crying, 
*  Stop,  coachman,  stop — I  have  lost  my  hat  and  wig  !  '  The 
coachman  hears  him  not — and  in  another  second  the  broad 
wheels  of  a  road  waggon  have  for  ever  demolished  the  lost 
head-gear.  But  here  we  must  leave  our  adventurous  Gilpin 
of  1742.  We  have  taken  a  great  liberty  with  him,  it  is  true, 
but  we  are  not  without  our  precedent.  One  of  the  best 
chapters  in  Livy  contains  the  history  of  *  an  event  which 
never  took  place.'  In  the  full  charm  of  his  imagination,  the 
historian  brings  Alexander  into  Italy,  where  he  never  was  in 
his  life,  and  displays  him  in  his  brightest  colours.  We 
father  our  sins,  then,  upon  the  Patavinian. 

199 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

But  we  will  now  adhere  to  sober  prose,  and  the  changes 
of  our  own  time.  Thirty  years  ago,  the  Holyhead  mail  left 
London  via  Oxford,  at  eight  o'clock  at  night,  and  arrived 
in  Shrewsbury  between  ten  and  eleven  the  following  night, 
being  twenty-seven  hours  to  one  hundred  and  sixty-two 
miles.  The  distance  is  now  done,  without  the  least  difficulty, 
in  sixteen  hours  and  a  quarter  ;  and  the  Holyhead  mail  is 
actually  at  Bangor  Ferry,  eighty-three  miles  further,  in  the 
same  time  it  used  to  take  in  reaching  the  post-office  at 
Shrewsbury.  We  fancy  we  now  see  it,  as  it  was  when  we 
travelled  on  it  in  our  schoolboy  time,  over  the  Wolver- 
hampton  and  Shiffnal  stage — in  those  days  loose  uncovered 
sand  in  part — with  Charles  Peters  or  Old  Ebden  quitting 
his  seat  as  guard,  and  coming  to  the  assistance  of  the  coach- 
man, who  had  flogged  his  horses  till  he  could  flog  them  no 
longer.  We  think  we  see  them  crawling  up  the  hill  in 
Shrewsbury  town — whip,  whip,  whip  ;  and  an  hour  behind 
their  time  '  by  Shrewsbury  clock  '  ;  the  betting  not  ten  to  one 
that  she  had  not  been  overturned  on  the  road  !  It  is  now  a 
treat  to  see  her  approach  the  town,  if  not  before,  never  after, 
her  minute  ;  and  she  forms  a  splendid  day-coach  through 
Wales  and  England,  on  her  up -journey  in  the  summer  ; 
namely,  from  Holyhead  to  Daventry.  A  young  man  of  the 
name  of  Taylor,  a  spirited  proprietor,  horses  her  through 
Shrewsbury,  from  Hay-gate  to  Nescliff,  in  a  manner  that 
deserves  to  be  spoken  of.  The  stages  are  ten  and 
eight,  and  for  these  he  has  a  team  of  bays,  a  team  of 
greys,  and  two  teams  of  chestnuts,  that  can  show  with 
200 


THK  STAGE  COACH. 


^Nimrod ' 

England.1  Let  us  look  to  another  coach  out  of  this 
town  at  the  period  we  have  been?  speaking  of — *  the 
Shrewsbury  and  Chester  Highflyer  !  '  This  coach  started 
from  Shrewsbury  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
arrived  at  Chester  about  the  same  time  in  the  evening — 
distance,  forty  miles.  This  was  always  a  good  hard 
road  for  wheels,  and  rather  favourable  for  draught ;  and 
how  then  could  all  these  hours  be  accounted  for  ?  Why, 
if  a  '  commercial  gentleman  '  had  a  little  business  at  Elles- 
mere,  there  was  plenty  of  time  for  that.  If  a  *  real  gentle- 
man '  wanted  to  pay  a  morning  visit  on  the  road,  there  could 
be  no  objection  to  that.  In  the  pork-pie  season,  half  an  hour 
was  generally  consumed  in  consuming  one  of  them  ;  for 
Mr.  Williams,  the  coachman,  was  a  wonderful  favourite  with 
the  farmers'  wives  and  daughters  all  along  the  road.  The 
coach  dined  at  Wrexham  ;  for  coaches  lived  well  in  those 
days — they  now  live  upon  air  ;  and  Wrexham  church  was 
to  be  seen — a  fine  specimen  of  the  florid  Gothic,  and  one 
of  the  wonders  of  Wales  !  Then  Wrexham  was  also  famous 
for  ale — no  public  breweries  in  those  days  in  Wales — and, 
above  all,  the  inn  belonged  to  Sir  Watkin.2  About  two 
hours  were  allowed  for  dinner  ;  but  *  Billy  Williams  ' — one 
of  the  best-tempered  fellows  on  earth,  as  honest  as  Aristides, 
and,  until  lately,  upon  the  same  ground — was  never  particular 
to  half  an  hour  or  so.  *  The  coach  is  ready,  gentlemen,'  he 

1  It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  this  mail  has  not  varied  five  minutes  in  or 
out  of  Shrewsbury  during  the  last  eighteen  months. 

2  Sir  Watkin  Williams  Wynn,  Bart. 

2O I 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

would  say  ;  *  but  don't  let  me  disturb  you,  if  you  wish  for 
another  bottle/  A  coach  now  runs  over  this  ground  a  trifle 
under  jour  hours  \ 

The  Brighton  road  may  be  said  to  be  covered  with  coaches, 
no  less  than  twenty-five  running  upon  it  in  the  summer. 
The  fastest  is  the  Vivid,  from  the  Spread  Eagle,  Gracechurch 
Street,  which  performs  the  journey  in  five  hours  and  a  quarter. 
That  called  the  Age,  when  driven  and  horsed  by  the  late 
Mr.  Stevenson,  was  an  object  of  such  admiration  at  Brighton 
that  a  crowd  was  every  day  collected  to  see  it  start.  Mr. 
Stevenson  was  a  graduate  of  Cambridge  ;  but  his  passion 
for  the  bench  got  the  better  of  all  other  ambitions,  and  he 
became  a  coachman  by  profession  ; — and  it  is  only  justice 
to  his  memory  to  admit  that,  though  cut  off  in  the  flower 
of  his  youth,  he  had  arrived  at  perfection  in  his  art.  His 
education  and  early  habits  had  not,  however,  been  lost  upon 
him ;  his  demeanour  was  always  that  of  a  gentleman ;  and 
it  may  be  fairly  said  of  him,  that  he  introduced  the  pheno- 
menon of  refinement  into  a  stage-coach.  At  a  certain  change 
of  horses  on  the  road,  a  silver  sandwich-box  was  handed  to 
his  passengers  by  his  servant,  accompanied  by  the  offer  of 
a  glass  of  sherry  to  such  as  were  so  inclined.  Well-born 
coachmen  prevail  on  this  road.  A  gentleman  connected  with 
the  first  families  in  Wales,  and  whose  father  long  represented 
his  native  county  in  Parliament,  horsed  and  drove  one  side 
of  the  ground  with  Mr.  Stevenson  ;  and  Mr.  Charles  Jones, 
brother  to  Sir  Thomas  Tyrwhit  Jones,  had  a  coach  on  it 
called  the  Pearl,  which  he  both  horsed  and  drove  himself ; 
202 


^Nimrod ' 

the  Bognor  coach,  horsed  by  the  Messrs.  Walkers  of  Mitchel 
Grove,  and  driven  in  the  first  style  by  Mr.  John  Walker,  must 
also  be  fresh  in  the  recollection  of  many  of  our  readers  ; 
and  Sir  Vincent  Cotton,  one  of  our  oldest  baronets,  now 
drives  the  Age,  having  purchased  it  of  Mr.  Willan,  who 
drove  it,  and  who  now  drives  the  Magnet  on  the  same  road. 
But  to  return  to  fast  work  :  the  Edinburgh  mail  runs  the 
distance,  four  hundred  miles,  in  a  little  over  forty  hours,  and 
we  may  set  our  watches  by  it  at  any  point  of  her  journey. 
Stoppages  included,  this  approaches  eleven  miles  in  the 
hour,  and  much  the  greater  part  of  it  by  lamplight.  The 
Exeter  day- coach,  the  Herald,  from  the  Saracen's  'Head, 
Snow  Hill,  runs  over  her  ground,  a  hundred  and  seventy- 
three  miles,  in  twenty  hours — admirable  performance,  con- 
sidering the  natural  unevenness  of  the  country  through 
which  she  has  to  pass.  The  Devonport  mail  does  her  work 
in  first-rate  style,  two  hundred  and  twenty-seven  miles,  in 
twenty-two  hours.  In  short,  from  London  to  Cheltenham, 
Gloucester,  Worcester,  Birmingham,  Norwich,  or  any  other 
place,  whose  distance  does  not  much  exceed  one  hundred  miles, 
is  now  little  more  than  a  pleasant  morning  drive.  We  say 
pleasant  ;  for  this  extraordinary  speed  is  not  attained,  generally 
speaking,  by  putting  animals  to  anything  like  cruel  exertion. 
A  fast  coach  has,  or  ought  to  have,  very  nearly  a  horse 
to  every  mile  of  ground  it  runs — reckoning  one  way,  or 
*  one  side  of  the  ground.'  *  Proprietors  of  coaches  have  at 

1  For  example,  from  London  to  Shrewsbury  is  a  hundred  and  fifty-eight 
miles,  and  the  number  of  horses  kept  for  the  Wonder  coach  is  a  hundred 

203 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

length  found  out — though  they  were  a  long  time  before 
they  did  discover  it — that  the  hay-  and  corn-market  is  not 
so  expensive  as  the  horse-market.  They  have,  therefore, 
one  horse  in  four  always  at  rest ;  or,  in  other  words,  each 
horse  lies  still  on  the  fourth  day,  thus  having  the  advantage 
of  man.  For  example,  if  ever  we  turn  coach-proprietors, 
or  *  get  into  harness,'  as  the  proper  term  is — which,  as  we 
have  become  fox-hunters,  is  by  no  means  impossible — we 
shall  keep  ten  horses  for  every  ten  miles'  stage  we  engage 
to  cover.  In  this  case,  eight  horses  only  will  be  at  work, 
four  up  and  four  down.  If  the  stage  be  less  than  eight 
miles,  nine  horses  may  do  the  work.  But  no  horse  in  a 
fast  coach  can  continue  to  run  every  day,  the  excitement  of 
high  keep  and  profuse  sweating  producing  disease.  In  prac- 
tice, perhaps,  no  animal  toiling  for  man,  solely  for  his  profit, 
leads  so  easy  and  so  comfortable  a  life  as  the  English  coach- 
horse.  He  is  sumptuously  fed,  kindly  treated  ;  and  if  he 

and  fifty.  Perhaps  for  the  length  of  ground  it  travels  over,  this  is  the  most 
punctual  coach  at  all  its  stages  on  the  journey  at  this  time  in  England.  It 
leaves  Shrewsbury  at  a  quarter  before  six,  A.M.,  and  arrives  at  the  Bull  and  Mouth, 
London,  at  a  quarter  past  nine,  P.M.,  and  as  this  was  the  first  coach  that  attempted 
to  become  a  day-coach  over  so  great  an  extent  of  ground,  we  are  induced  to 
notice  one  particular  team  on  it,  said  to  be  the  most  superb  of  their  kind, 
and  for  the  purpose  for  which  they  are  used,  at  this  time  in  Great  Britain. 
They  are  chestnuts,  the  property  of  Mr.  Evans,  of  Wolverhampton  ;  and 
their  ground  is  from  that  town  to  Wednesbury,  a  distance  of  six  miles.  The 
coachmen  of  the  Wonder  also  deserve  notice  for  their  uniformly  good  conduct 
and  skill.  Their  names  are  Wood  (who  drives  out  of  London),  Lyley  Wilcox, 
and  Hayward. 

There  is  likewise  a  very  fast  and  well-conducted  coach  which  passes  through 
Shrewsbury,  viz.,  the  Hirondelle,  from  Cheltenham  to  Liverpool,  a  hundred 
and  thirty-three  miles,  in  twelve  hours  and  a  half !  Both  these  coaches  load 
uncommonly  well. 

204 


^Nimrod 5 

do  suffer  a  little  in  his  work,  he  has  twenty-three  hours  in 
the  twenty-four  of  luxurious  ease.  He  is  now  almost  a 
stranger  to  the  lash,  nor  do  we  ever  see  him  with  a 
broken  skin  ;  but  we  often  see  him  kick  up  his  heels 
when  taken  from  his  coach,  after  having  performed  his 
stage  of  ten  miles  in  five  minutes  under  the  hour.  So 
much  for  condition. 

No  horse  lives  so  high  as  a  coach-horse.  In  the  language 
of  the  stable,  his  stomach  is  the  measure  of  his  corn  ;  he 
is  fed  ad  libitum.  The  effect  of  this  is  visible  in  two  ways  : — 
first,  it  is  surprising  to  see  how  soon  horses  gather  flesh  in 
this  severe  work  ;  for  there  is  none,  as  far  as  muscular 
exertion  goes,  more  severe  whilst  it  lasts  :  and,  secondly, 
proprietors  find  that  good  flesh  is  no  obstacle  to  their  speed, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  operates  to  their  advantage.  Horses 
draw  by  their  weight,  and  not  by  the  force  of  their  muscles, 
which  merely  assist  the  application  of  that  weight :  the 
heavier  a  horse  is,  then,  the  more  powerful  is  he  in  his 
harness  ;  in  short,  it  is  the  weight  of  the  animal  which  pro- 
duces the  draught,  and  the  play  and  force  of  his  muscles 
serve  to  continue  it.  Light  horses,  therefore,  how  good 
soever  their  action,  ought  not  to  be  put  to  draw  a  heavy 
load,  as  muscular  force  cannot  act  against  it  for  any  great 
length  of  time. 

The  average  price  of  horses  for  fast  coaches  may  be 
about  twenty-five  pounds.  Fancy  teams,  and  those  work- 
ing out  of  London,  may  be  rated  higher,  say  thirty  pounds, 
but  taking  a  hundred  miles  of  ground,  well  horsed ',  the  former 

205 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

is  about  the  mark.1  The  average  period  of  each  horse's 
service  does  not  exceed  four  years  in  a  fast  coach  ;  perhaps 
scarcely  so  much,  although  still  equal  to  more  moderate 
work.  In  a  slow  one  we  may  allow  seven  ;  but  in  both 
cases  we  are  alluding  to  horses  put  to  work  at  five  or  six 
years  old.2  Considerable  judgment  is  necessary  to  the 
selection  of  horses  for  fast  work  in  harness  ;  for  if  they 
have  not  action  which  will  command  the  pace  they  are  timed 
at,  they  soon  destroy  themselves.  For  a  wheel-horse,  he 
should  have  sound  fore-legs,  or  he  cannot  be  depended  upon 
down  hill.  Good  hind-legs  and  well-spread  gaskins  are  also 
essential  points  in  a  coach-horse  ;  the  weight  or  force 
applied  proceeding  from  the  fulcrum  formed  by  the  hinder 
feet.  The  price  we  have  named  as  the  average  one  for  such 
animals  may  appear  a  very  low  one  ;  but  we  must  remember 
that  to  be  a  hunter  or  a  good  roadster,  a  horse  must  have 
length  of  shoulder,  length  of  frame,  peculiarly  placed  hinder- 
legs,  and  a  well-bitted  mouth  :  whereas,  without  any  of 
these  qualities  he  may  make  an  excellent  coach-horse ;  and 
hence  the  value  of  the  coach-market  to  our  breeders. 
Blemished  horses  also  find  their  way  into  coaches,  as  do 
those  whose  tempers  are  bad ;  neither  is  a  blind  horse,  with 
good  courage,  altogether  objectionable,  now  the  roads  are 
so  level.3  The  following  description  of  a  road  coach-horse, 

1  Of  course  we  speak  of  prime  cost,  for  coach-horses  increase  in  value  as 
they  acquire  condition,  and  are  found  to  be  equal  to  their  work. 

2  There  are  at  this  time  leaders  on  the  Dover  road,  which  have  run  together 
over  the  same  stage  upwards  of  twelve  years  ! 

3  Thirty  years  back  blind  horses  were  numerous  in  stage-coaches  ;    in 

206 


^Nimrod 5 

for  fast  work,  was  given  by  the  author  of  these  papers  at 
the  request  of  an  eminent  London  coach-proprietor  :  *  First 
requisite,  action  ;  second,  sound  legs  and  feet,  with  power 
and  breeding  equal  to  the  nature  and  length  of  the  ground 
he  will  work  upon.  Third,  good  wind,  as  the  power  of 
respiration  is  called,  without  which  the  first  and  second 
qualifications  will  not  avail,  in  very  fast  work,  for  any  length 
of  time.  A  clear- winded  coach-horse  will  always  keep  his 
condition,  consequently  his  health,  because  he  does  not  feel 
distress  on  a  reasonable  length  of  ground.  The  hunter  and 
the  racer  are  good  or  bad,  chiefly  in  proportion  to  their 
powers  of  respiration  ;  and  such  is  the  case  with  the  road 
coach-horse.  The  most  proper  food,  then,  for  a  coach- 
horse  in  fast  work  is  that  which  affords  him  sufficient  nourish- 
ment, without  having  an  injurious  effect  on  his  wind  ;  in 
other  words,  that  which  does  not  impair  his  respiratory 
organs  by  pressing  on  them.' 

It  may  probably  surprise  many  of  our  readers  to  be 
informed  of  the  extent  to  which  individual  persons  in  England 
embark  their  capital  in  what  is  termed  the  coaching-line. 
Mr.  Chaplin,  who  is  the  occupier  of  the  five  following 
'  yards,'  as  they  are  termed,  in  London — namely,  those  of 
the  Spread  Eagle  and  Cross  Keys,  Gracechurch  Street ; 
the  Swan  with  Two  Necks,  Lad  Lane  ;  the  White  Horse, 
Fetter  Lane  ;  and  the  Angel,  behind  St.  Clement's — has  no 

fact,  it  would  now  and  then  happen  that  the  whole  team  were  in  darkness. 
'  Well  over  that,  sir,'  said  one  of  the  old  school  of  coachmen  to  a  passenger 
that  sate  beside  him  on  the  box,  having  just  passed  a  dangerous  bridge  on  a 
foggy  night ;  *  only  one  eye  among  us  ! '  That '  one  '  was  his  own  ! 

207 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

less  than  thirteen  hundred  horses  at  work,  in  various  coaches, 
on  various  roads  ;  and  Messrs.  Home  and  Sherman,  the 
two  next  largest  coach-proprietors  in  London,  have  about 
seven  hundred  each.  Those  who  have  not  witnessed  it 
might,  perhaps,  be  still  more  astonished  at  the  regularity 
and  ease  with  which  these  prodigious,  apparently  over- 
whelming, establishments  are  conducted,  by  the  means  of 
foremen  and  subordinates  well  trained  to  their  business.1 

It  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  the  uninitiated  to  learn 
how  a  coach  is  worked.  We  will,  then,  assume  that  A,  B,  C, 
and  D  enter  into  a  contract  to  horse  a  coach  eighty  miles, 
each  proprietor  having  twenty  miles  ;  in  which  case  he  is 
said  to  cover  both  sides  of  the  ground,  or  to  and  fro.  At  the 
expiration  of  twenty-eight  days,  the  lunar  month,  a  settle- 
ment takes  place  ;  and  if  the  gross  earnings  of  the  coach 
should  be  five  pounds  per  mile,  there  will  be  four  hundred 
pounds  to  divide  between  the  four  proprietors,  after  the 
following  charges  have  been  deducted  ;  viz.,  tolls,  duty  to 
government,  mileage  (or  hire  of  the  coach,  to  the  coach- 
maker),  two  coachmen's  wages,  porters'  wages,  rent  or 
charge  of  booking-offices  at  each  end,  and  washing  the 
coaches.  These  charges  may  amount  to  one  hundred 
pounds,  which  leaves  three  hundred  pounds  to  keep  eighty 
horses  and  to  pay  the  horse-keepers,  for  a  period  of  twenty- 
eight  days,  which  gives,  within  a  fraction,  a  pound  a  week 
for  each  horse.  Thus  it  appears  that  a  fast  coach,  properly 

1  Mr.  Chaplin  is  likewise  proprietor  of  two  London  hotels,  residing  in 
that  called  '  Osborne's  '  in  the  Adelphi. 

208 


^Nimrod 5 

appointed,  cannot  pay  unless  its  gross  receipts  amount  to 
five  pounds  per  double  mile  ;  and  that,  even  then  the 
horser's  profits  depend  on  the  luck  he  has  with  his  stock. 

In  the  present  age,  the  art  of  mechanism  is  eminently 
reduced  to  the  practical  purposes  of  life,  and  the  modern 
form  of  the  stage-coach  seems  to  have  arrived  at  perfection. 
It  combines  prodigious  strength  with  almost  incredible 
lightness,  not  weighing  more  than  about  eighteen  hundred- 
weight ;  and,  being  kept  so  much  nearer  the  ground  than 
formerly,  is  of  course  considerably  safer.  Accidents,  no 
doubt,  occur,  and  a  great  many  more  than  meet  the  public 
eye  ;  but  how  should  this  be  otherwise,  when  we  take  into 
account  the  immense  number  of  coaches  on  the  several 
different  roads,  a  great  portion  of  which  travel  through  the 
night,  and  have  all  the  varieties  of  our  climate  to  contend 
with  ?  No  one  will  assert  that  the  proprietors  guard  against 
accidents  to  the  utmost  of  their  power  ;  but  the  great  com- 
petition they  have  to  encounter  is  a  strong  stimulant  to  their 
exertions  on  this  score.  Indeed,  in  some  respects,  the  in- 
crease of  pace  has  become  the  traveller's  security.1  Coaches 
and  harness  must  be  of  the  best  quality,  horses  must  be  fresh 
and  sound,  and  coachmen  of  science  and  respectability  can 
alone  be  employed.  In  fact,  to  the  increased  pace  of  their 
coaches  is  the  improvement  in  these  men's  moral  character 
to  be  attributed.  They  have  not  time  now  for  drinking  ; 

1  To  give  one  instance — The  Worcester  mail  was  one  of  the  slowest  on 
the  road,  and  the  oftenest  overturned.  She  is  now  fast,  and  reckoned  one  of 
the  safest  in  England. 

o  209 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

and  they  come  in  collision  with  a  class  of  persons  superior 
to  those  who  formerly  were  stage-coach  passengers,  by 
whose  example  it  has  been  impossible  for  them  not  to  profit 
in  all  respects.  A  coachman  drunk  on  his  box  is  now  a  rarity. 
A  coachman  quite  sober  was,  even  within  our  memory,  still 
more  so.  But  let  us  press  this  question  a  little  further  :  do 
the  proprietors  guard  against  accidents  to  the  very  extent  of 
their  ability  ?  We  fear  not :  too  many  of  them,  to  touch 
only  one  point,  allow  their  coachmen  to  omit  the  use  of  the 
hand  or  end-buckle  to  their  reins,  which  to  our  own  know- 
ledge has  lately  been  productive  of  several  accidents.  This  is 
new,  and  it  is  a  mere  piece  of  affectation,  and  should  be  put 
a  stop  to  ;  for  surely  if  a  coachman  fancies  he  has  not  time 
to  *  pin  his  ribbons  '  before  mounting  the  box,  he  can  do  so 
after  having  proceeded  a  short  distance  on  his  stage  ;  and  he 
cannot  say  he  has  not  time  to  unbuckle  them  before  he  comes 
to  the  end  of  it.  It  is  evident,  that  with  reins  unbuckled 
at  the  ends,  should  either  of  them  drop  out  of  his  hand,  all 
command  over  his  team  is  gone.  Moreover,  in  the  hands 
of  the  best  coachman,  a  wheel-horse  will  now  and  then 
drop,  and  should  he  not  fortunately  in  this  case  be  dragged  on 
the  ground  so  as  to  stop  the  coach,  up  he  jumps,  and,  ex- 
pecting the  whip,  rushes  forward  with  his  head  loose,  his 
reins  having  been  drawn  through  the  coachman's  hand. 
Had  it  been  buckled  at  the  end,  such  an  occurrence  could 
not  have  happened  ;  and  if,  after  our  warning,  damages  are 
sought  for  on  this  score,  coach-proprietors  may  depend  on 
it  they  must  be  prepared  to  smart.  It  is  also  now  become 
210 


^Nimrod ' 

fashionable  to  have  no  bearing  reins  to  the  harness,  which, 
with  horses  having  good  mouths,  may  be,  perhaps,  dispensed 
with  ;  but  the  absence  of  the  pad  and  crupper  cannot  be 
unattended  with  danger.1 

That,  in  fact,  nineteen  accidents  in  twenty  are  the  effects 
of  want  of  proper  precaution,  cannot  be  denied.  Coachmen, 
it  is  true,  are  not  theoretical  philosophers  ;  but  experience 
teaches  them,  that  if  they  drive  fast  round  corners,  the 
centre  of  gravity  must  be  more  or  less  disturbed  by  thus 
diverging  from  the  right  line  ;  and  if  lost,  over  she  goes  :  yet 
a  great  number  of  the  overturns  that  occur  happen  exactly 
in  this  way.  Why  then  are  not  coachmen  strictly  enjoined 
by  their  employers  to  avoid  so  gross  an  error  ?  But  it  is  in 
the  act  of  descending  hills  that  the  majority  of  catastrophes 
take  place  ;  and  the  coachman  needs  not  book-learning  to 
enlighten  him  as  to  the  wherefore.  Let  him  only  throw  up 
a  stone,  and  watch  its  descent.  If  it  falls  sixteen  feet  in  the 
first  second,  it  will  fall  three  times  that  distance  in  the  next, 
and  so  on.  Thus  it  is  with  his  coach  ;  the  continued  impulse 
it  acquires  in  descending  a  hill  presses  upon  the  wheel- 
horses,  until  at  last  it  exceeds  their  powers  of  resistance. 

1  A  false  notion  has  lately  got  abroad,  that  horses  are  less  apt  to  fall  down 
with  their  heads  quite  at  liberty,  as  those  on  the  Continent  are  generally  driven. 
Physically  speaking,  this  must  be  false  ;  forasmuch  as  the  weight  being  in  this 
case  thrown  more  forward,  the  centre  of  gravity  is  more  difficult  to  be  recovered 
when  disturbed.  A  short  time  since,  the  author  saw  ten  horses  out  of  eleven, 
in  two  Boulogne  and  Paris  diligences,  with  broken  knees,  and  called  a  respect- 
able inhabitant  of  the  first-named  town  to  witness  the  fact.  French  diligence- 
horses,  however,  fall  from  want  of  wind,  as  well  as  from  want  of  assistance 
to  keep  them  on  their  legs. 

211 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

Infshort,  they  have  a  new  force  to  contend  with  at  every 
step  they  take.  But  this  is  not  all.  Instead  of  checking  the 
active  force  of  his  coach  before  she  begins  to  move  down- 
ward, he  too  often  adds  that  to  the  fresh  impulse  she  acquires 
on  her  descent.  Every  coachman,  who  has  a  regard  for  the 
safety  of  his  own  neck,  should  check  the  velocity  of  his  coach 
at  the  top  of  every  hill  ;  which,  in  the  language  of  the  road,  is 
termed  *  taking  a  hill  in  time/  He  may,  in  that  case,  if  his 
harness  be  sound,  drive  his  coach  down  most  hills  now  found 
on  our  roads  with  ease  ;  and,  when  a  certain  way  down 
them,  may  increase  his  pace,  with  perfect  safety,  to  meet  the 
opposing  ground  at  the  bottom.  With  heavily-laden  coaches 
we  prefer  this  to  the  drag-chain  on  one  wheel  only,  by  which 
hundreds  of  them  have  been  pulled  over  on  slippery  roads  ; 
and  which  is  a  great  check  to  speed,  too,  as  the  momentum 
cannot  be  taken  advantage  of,  in  continuing  the  motion  of 
the  coach  when  she  brings  the  horses  to  their  collars  again. 
All  persons  who  have  travelled  on  the  Continent  have 
observed  an  appendage  to  the  public  carriages  by  which  both 
hinder- wheels  can  be  '  dragged/  as  the  term  is,  or  their 
rapid  rotation  checked,  by  the  conducteur,  or  guard,  without 
his  descending  from  his  seat ;  and  which  is  vulgarly  called 
*  le  mechanique.'  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  a  similar 
instrument  is  not  in  general  use  with  our  stage  and  mail- 
coaches,  as  it  would  be  the  means  of  preventing  numerous 
accidents  that  occur  by  coaches  overpowering  horses  when 
descending  long  hills,  but  such  as  are  not  considered  suffi- 
ciently steep  to  require  the  drag-chain  ;  or,  in  case  of  horses 
212 


^Nimrod ' 

attempting  to  get  the  better  of  their  driver.  A  gentleman  of 
the  name  of  Tongue,  residing  in  Staffordshire,  has  obtained 
a  patent  for  a  machine,  to  answer  this  end,  known  as 
'  Tongue's  patent  drag,'  and  it  is  now  used  on  several  coaches 
out  of  London,  as  well  as  on  various  cross-roads.  It  is  more 
simple  in  its  construction  than  that  we  see  on  the  Continent, 
and  its  additional  weight — not  exceeding  twenty  pounds — 
is  not  worthy  of  regard  when  balanced  against  its  security 
to  passengers,  and  the  benefit  wheel-horses  derive  from 
being  eased  of  the  pressure  of  the  load,  which  is  considerable, 
even  on  a  moderate  descent. 

The  question  often  arises, — is  there  danger  in  galloping 
horses  in  a  coach  on  perfectly  level  ground  ?  Under  certain 
circumstances  there  is.  For  instance,  if  there  happen  to  be 
two  horses  at  wheel  which  take  unequal  strides  in  their 
gallop,  their  action  will  be  felt  by  the  coach — they  being  so 
near  to  her — and  lateral  motion  will  be  produced,  by  which 
her  equilibrium  may  be  destroyed.  When  a  coach  once 
begins  to  swing,  a  little  thing  will  upset  her — even  passing 
over  a  small  stone — as  the  faster  she  goes  on  level  ground, 
the  more  weight  is  thrown  upon  her  fore- wheels,  and,  of 
course,  increased  on  a  descent.  Neither  is  a  good  road  a 
security  to  her  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  harder  the  surface  of 
it  the  more  danger,  there  being  nothing  to  hold  the  wheels 
to  the  ground.  If,  however,  it  were  possible  to  make  the 
stride  and  draught  of  four  horses  quite  equal,  their  increased 
speed  would  have  but  little  effect  on  a  coach  upon  tolerably 
level  ground  ;  which  is  proved  by  her  being  quite  steady 

213 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

in  ascending  a  hill  at  ever  so  quick  a  rate,  when  every 
horse  is  at  work.  This  shows  the  necessity  of  putting 
horses  well  together ,  and  driving  them  with  a  steady  hand. 

The  worst  of  accidents — and  one  which,  with  the  present 
structure  of  coaches,  can  never  be  entirely  provided  against — 
arises  from  broken  axletrees,  from  which  cause,  since  these 
articles  first  appeared,  several  lives  have  been  lost,  and 
more  limbs  fractured.  There  is  certainly  something  start- 
ling in  the  reflection,  that  whenever  we  travel  by  a  coach 
we  are  liable  to  this  occurrence,  which  must  happen  if  the 
weight  above  be  too  great  for  the  sustaining  power  below  ; 
and  for  this  reason  the  mails  are  safer  than  stage-coaches, 
as  not  loading  so  heavily.  Everything  that  can  be  done  to 
prevent  the  snapping  of  the  axletree  has  now  been  adopted, 
we  think,  by  our  coach-builders.  In  case  it  does  break, 
what  is  called  the  idle  wheel,  in  addition  to  the  active  wheel, 
is  the  only  security  against  an  upset ;  but  as  this  some- 
what adds  to  the  weight  of  a  coach,  the  adoption  of 
it  has  been  abandoned.  Accidents,  then,  are  always  to 
be  apprehended  by  travellers  from  this  cause ;,  the  loss  of 
wheels  is  another  ;  and  until  an  act  of  parliament  enforces 
the  use  of  the  patent  box,  or  the  screw-nut,  so  as  to  trust 
no  longer  to  the  common  linchpin,  it  will  remain  a  third.1 

1  The  only  linchpin  that  can  be  relied  on  is  the  wooden  one,  which,  to- 
gether with  the  screw-nut,  is  used  in  the  French  diligences.  It  is  made  of 
heart  of  oak  ;  and  being  once  driven  through  the  eye  of  the  arm,  cannot  be 
drawn  out  again,  without  cutting  off  the  bottom  of  it,  as  it  swells  to  a  size 
which  prevents  its  returning  the  way  it  went  in.  There  is  no  dependence  on 
iron  linchpins. 

The  model  of  a  carriage  has  lately  been  exhibited,  built  on  a  plan  by  which 

214 


^Nimrod 5 

On  the  whole,  however,  travelling  by  public  conveyances 
was  never  so  secure  as  it  is  at  the  present  time.  Nothing 
can  be  more  favourable  to  it  than  the  build  of  the  modern 
coaches.  The  boots,  being  let  down  between  the  springs, 
keep  the  load,  consequently  the  centre  of  gravity,  low  ;  the 
wheels  of  many  of  them  are  secured  by  patent  boxes  ;  and 
in  every  part  of  them  the  best  materials  are  used.  The  cost 
of  coaches  of  this  description  is  from  a  hundred  and  thirty 
pounds  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  ;  but  they  are  gener- 
ally hired  from  the  maker,  at  from  two  pence  half-penny  to 
three  pence  per  mile. 

The  common  height  of  the  stage-coach  wheels  of  the 
present  day  is  as  follows  : — the  fore-wheels,  three  feet  four 
inches,  the  hinder,  four  feet  eight  inches.  As  the  former 
turn  round  so  much  oftener  than  the  latter,  and  also  bear 
more  weight,  they  require  to  have  their  fellies  fresh  wrung 
about  every  five  weeks  ;  whereas  the  latter  will  stand  good 
for  two  months  or  more.  The  strength  of  a  wheel  depends 
greatly  on  the  attention  paid  to  the  arrangement  and  framing 
of  the  spokes.  In  common  wheels,  they  are  framed  regularly 
and  equally  all  round  the  thickest  part  of  the  nave,  the 
tenons  of  the  spokes  being  so  bevelled  as  to  stand  about 
three  inches  out  of  perpendicular,  by  which  is  produced 
the  dishing  wheel.  This  dishing,  or  concave,  wheel  is  not 
essential  on  our  present  rutless  roads,  and  perpendicular 
wheels  are  preferable  on  level  ground.  The  best  wheels 

the  centre  of  gravity  is  preserved  under  any  ordinary  circumstances  to  which 
our  coaches  are  exposed  on  the  road. 

215 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

we  know  of  are  those  under  our  mail-coaches.  The  spokes 
are  framed  somewhat  differently  into  the  nave,  which  is  made 
rather  larger  than  is  usual  for  common  coach- wheels,  and 
every  other  spoke  is  framed  perpendicular  to  the  nave.  Hence, 
the  mortises  to  receive  them  in  it  are  not  made  in  a  parallel 
line  around  it,  but  stand  as  it  were  in  two  different  parallels — 
one  without  the  other  ;  by  which  means  greater  solidity  is 
given  to  the  nave,  and  an  immense  addition  of  strength  to 
the  wheel.  What  is  called  the  patent  hoop,  always  used  in 
stage-coaches — having  the  iron  tire  drawn  into  one  com- 
plete ring,  is  not  put  on  these  wheels  ;  but  the  common 
strokes,  as  they  are  called,  forged  and  hammered  to  the 
sweep  of  the  rings,  and  in  lengths  equal  to  those  of  the 
fellies,  are  put  on  red  hot,  and  well  secured  by  rivetted  nails. 
The  mail  fore-wheel  is  somewhat  higher  than  that  of  the 
stage-coach,  which  is  an  advantage.  Low  fore-wheels  place 
the  axle  so  much  below  the  level  of  the  wheel-horses'  breasts, 
that  they  have  not  only  the  carriage  to  draw,  but  also  part 
of  its  weight  to  bear.  This  weight  distresses  their  hams, 
stifles,  and  hocks,  and  accounts  for  coach-horses  being  so 
soon  unfit  for  the  saddle.  It  is  evident  that  attention  to 
these  points  is  necessary  in  putting  horses  to  a  coach  ;  and 
when  the  fore- wheels  are  low,  the  wheel-horses  should  have 
as  much  length  of  trace  as  can  be  given  them,  for  the  line 
of  traction  should  be  as  nearly  even  with  the  draught  of  the 
horse  as  we  can  make  it.1 

1  Thus  it  is  with  a  farmer's  waggon.    When  the  shaft-horse  is  standing 
at  rest — allowing  two  degrees  of  an  angle  for  that  position — the  point  of  the 

2l6 


^Nimrod ' 

It  requires,  also,  some  art  to  load  a  coach  properly.  A 
waggoner  on  country  roads  always  puts  the  greater  weight 
over  his  hinder  wheels,  being  the  highest ;  and  he  is  right, 
for  he  has  obstacles  to  meet,  and  the  power  necessary  to 
overcome  them  diminishes  with  the  increased  diameter  of 
the  wheel.  On  our  turnpike  roads,  however,  where  there 
is  now  no  obstacle,  the  load  on  a  coach  should  be  condensed 
as  much  as  possible,  and  the  heaviest  packages  placed  in 
the  fore  boot.  Indeed,  all  the  heavier  packages  should  be 
put  into  the  boots,  and  the  lighter  ones  only  on  the  roof.  A 
well-loaded  coach  is  sure  to  follow  well,  and  is  always  pleasant 
to  ride  in  ;  and  as  a  weak  child  totters  less  when  it  has  a 
weight  on  its  head,  coach-springs  break  less  frequently  with 
a  moderately  heavy  and  well-adjusted  load  than  with  a 
light  one. 

Allowance  is  made  for  the  retarding  power  of  friction  in 
all  kinds  of  machinery,  and  of  course  it  is  not  overlooked  in 
carriages.  The  coachman  sees  its  effect  every  time  he  puts 
the  drag-chain  on  his  wheel,  which  merely  decreases  the 
velocity  of  his  coach,  by  increasing  the  quantity  of  friction. 
Common-sense  must  likewise  instruct  him,  that  when  two 

shaft  is  nearly  even  with  the  top  of  the  fore-wheel ;  but  when  the  horse  exerts 
his  strength  to  move  a  load,  he  brings  his  breast  so  much  nearer  the  ground, 
that  the  line  of  draught  is  almost  horizontal,  and  in  a  line  with  its  centre.  The 
trace  of  a  coach-horse,  when  he  stands  at  rest,  is  also  oblique  to  the  horizon,  and 
must  be  so  with  low  fore-wheels  ;  but  it  approaches  the  horizontal  when  he 
is  at  work,  and  the  nearer  it  approaches  to  it  the  better.  Horses  draw  by 
their  weight,  and  not  by  the  force  of  their  muscles  ;  the  hinder  feet,  then, 
being  the  fulcrum  of  the  lever  by  which  their  weight  acts  against  a  load,  when 
they  pull  hard  it  depresses  their  chests — thus  increasing  the  lever  of  its  weight, 
and  diminishing  the  lever  by  which  the  load  resists  its  efforts. 

217 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

bodies  are  rubbing  against  each  other  in  opposite  directions 
— as  the  arm  of  an  axletree  and  the  iron-box  of  a  wheel — 
the  smoother  these  bodies  can  be  made,  the  less,  of  course,  is 
the  friction.    As  economy  in  the  expense  of  power  is  one  of 
the  chief  objects  of  a  mechanic,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at 
that  great  pains  have  been  taken  in  the  construction  of  the 
axles   and   boxes   of  carriages.    To   Mr.   Collinge   are  we 
chiefly  indebted  for  his  patent  cylindrical  axletree  and  box, 
which  have  stood  the  test  of  many  years,  and  given  universal 
satisfaction — for  the  silent  and  steady  motion  they  impart 
to  the  wheel — for  their  great  strength  and  durability — and 
for  carrying  oil  several  thousand  miles  without  the  necessity 
of  replenishing  it.    They  are  turned  upon  a  lathe,  case- 
hardened,  and  rendered  as  smooth  on  the  surface  as  it  is 
possible,  in  the  existing  state  of  the  art,  to  render  them. 
But  as  the  expense  of  these  boxes  is  too  great  for  stage- 
coaches, patents  have  been  taken  out  for  others  of  a  less 
costly  nature,  which  answer  extremely  well,  and  have  long 
since  been  in  use  on  all  the  coaches  that  run  from  the  Bull 
and  Mouth,  and  many  others  besides.    No  stage-coach  can 
be  safe  without  the  patent  boxes,  as  they  are  termed,  but  there 
is   a   prejudice   amongst   proprietors   against   them.    They 
certainly  add  to  the  cost,  and  also  to  the  weight,  of  the 
coach  ;    and  by  preventing  the  wheels  from  escaping  any 
obstacle  that  may  present  itself — the  consequence  of  their 
being  air-tight — they  wear  out  rather  sooner  than  when 
used  with  the  common  axle.    Their  general  adoption,  how- 
ever, would  be  a  great  safeguard  to  the  public,  as  well  as  of 
218 


^Nimrod ' 

considerable  assistance  to  trade.  In  the  mail-coaches,  the 
boxes  are  of  a  different  construction,  and  owe  their  safety 
to  four  bolts,  which  pass  completely  through  the  nave  of 
the  wheel,  having  a  square  shoulder  on  the  back  of  the  nave, 
with  screws  and  nuts  on  its  front.  We  have  no  hesitation 
in  saying,  this  is  the  best  wheel  ever  put  under  a  coach  ;  and, 
of  course,  Mr.  Vidler,  the  late  contractor  for  the  mails,  had  a 
patent  for  it.  The  mails  could  never  do  their  work  with 
the  common  axle  and  box.1 

Cicero  laments  the  want  of  post-offices,  and  well  he 
might.  Nothing  can  excel  that  department  in  our  country, 
as  it  has  long  been  administered  by  the  late  Sir  Francis 
Freeling  ;  although  we  feared  in  this,  as  in  more  important 
matters,  we  were  about  to  lose  sight  of  the  good  old  rule  of 
*  letting  well  alone.'  It  was  said  to  have  been  the  intention 
of  Government  to  substitute  light  carriages  with  two  horses, 
for  the  present  mail-coaches  drawn  by  four  ;  but  we  had 

1  An  improvement  on  all  the  patents  yet  brought  forth  was  some  time 
since  attempted  by  two  spirited  coach-makers  in  London,  but  we  have  not 
heard  of  its  success.  Its  object  is  to  diminish  draught  in  two  distinct  ways — 
first,  by  reducing  the  bearing  parts,  and  thereby  lessening  friction  ;  and, 
secondly,  by  diminishing  the  '  dead  hug,'  as  it  is  termed,  which  is  always  an 
attendant  on  the  cylindrical  arm  and  box.  It  substitutes  a  square  instead 
of  a  cylindrical  box,  in  which  the  cylindrical  axle  or  arm  works.  This  is  made 
to  fit  on  each  of  the  four  sides  as  true  and  as  air-tight  as  if  it  were  a  complete 
circle  ;  and  if  the  four  different  bearings  are  but  one-eighth  of  an  inch  each, 
it  is  apparent  that  there  is  but  half  an  inch  of  surface  for  the  arm  to  oppose  or 
work  against  in  each  axle  ;  and  so  on  in  proportion  to'  the  size  of  the  bearing. 
Nor  is  this  all :  those  parts  or  angles  not  touched  by  the  arm — as  may  be  seen 
when  the  box  is  revolving — serve  as  reservoirs  for  oil,  affording  a  constant 
supply.  The  nose  of  the  arm  is  protected  by  a  circular  end,  ground  on  to 
form  the  nicest  fit,  and  prevent  the  possibility  of  the  smallest  particle  of  gravel 
finding  its  way  into  the  box. 

219 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

many  suspicions  as  to  the  result  of  such  a  change.  It  is  true, 
the  persons  that  horse  the  mails  cry  out  lustily  against  the 
Government  for  not  remunerating  them  better  for  the  in- 
creased speed  at  which  they  are  now  required  to  travel — the 
maximum  price  being  tenpence  a  mile.  Indeed,  several 
proprietors  have,  in  consequence  of  their  losses,  taken  their 
horses  off  some  of  the  mails  ;  and  others  would  refuse  fresh 
contracts,  unless  more  liberal  terms  were  offered  them. 
The  Chester  has  already  disappeared.  These  complaints 
have,  no  doubt,  been  troublesome — and,  in  some  cases, 
perhaps,  not  quite  reasonable  ;  but  we  will  state  our 
reasons  for  thinking  the  present  system  cannot  be  improved 
upon. 

First,  the  build  of  the  mails  is  admirable  for  endurance. 
Why  do  we  oftener  hear  of  axletrees  and  other  parts  giving 
way  with  stage-coaches,  and  scarcely  ever  in  the  mails  ? 
Simply  because  the  sustaining  powers  of  the  latter  are  more 
than  equal  to  the  weight,  and  they  cannot  lose  their  wheels. 
Moreover,  they  are  excellently  adapted  for  quick  travelling  ; 
the  centre  of  gravity  being  low — and  now  still  lower  in  those 
furnished  by  the  new  contractor,  the  term  of  Mr.  Vidler's 
contract  having  expired  ;  and  they  are  light  in  comparison 
with  stage-coaches  that  run  as  fast  as  they  do  ;  indeed, 
amongst  coachmen,  they  are  slightingly  termed  '  paper 
carts/  in  reference  to  comparative  weight,  and  their  great 
speed  on  the  road.  When  the  mail-coach  of  the  present  day 
starts  from  London  for  Edinburgh,  a  man  may  safely  bet  a 
hundred  to  one  that  she  arrives  to  her  time  ;  but  let  a  light 
220 


^Nimrod ' 

two-horse  vehicle  set  out  on  the  same  errand,  and  the  betting 
would  strangely  alter. 

It  is  quite  a  mistaken  notion,  that  a  carriage  is  less  liable 
to  accidents  for  being  light.  On  the  contrary,  she  is  more 
liable  to  them  than  one  that  is  well  laden  in  proportion  to 
her  sustaining  powers.  In  the  latter  case,  she  runs  steadily 
along,  and  is  but  little  disturbed  by  any  obstacle  or  jerk  she 
may  meet  on  the  road  ;  in  the  former  she  is  constantly  on 
'  the  jump/  as  coachmen  call  it,  and  her  iron  parts  very 
liable  to  snap.  Our  present  mail-coach  work  reflects  the 
highest  credit  on  the  state  of  our  roads,  and  everything  con- 
nected with  them.  It  will  be  borne  in  mind  that,  with  one 
or  two  exceptions,  they  all  begin  their  journey  at  night,  and 
those  which  perform  very  long  distances  have  two  nights  to 
one  day  ;  yet,  see  the  wonderful  regularity  with  which  they 
arrive,  and  the  few  bad  accidents  they  meet  with  !  But, 
indeed,  all  our  night- travelling  in  England  is  deserving  of 
high  praise  for  the  expedition  and  regularity  with  which  it 
is  conducted  ;  and,  we  have  reason  to  believe,  fewer  acci- 
dents happen  to  night-coaches  than  to  such  as  run  by  day. 
This,  however,  may  be  accounted  for.  Barring  fogs,  it 
matters  not  how  dark  a  night  is,  as  our  lamps  supply  the  light 
of  the  sun  ;  and,  taking  the  average  of  nights,  have  a  prefer- 
ence over  the  moon.  Coachmen — now  always  sober — are 
then  more  careful,  and  less  given  to  larking ,  and  the  road  is 
generally  clear  of  any  carriages  but  those  which  travel  with 
lights.  Horses  also  run  more  steadily  by  night,  and  cer- 
tainly with  more  ease ;  it  is  a  very  common  case  to  hear  a 

221 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

coachman  say,  such  a  horse  is  '  a  good  night  horse,  but  an 
indifferent  one  by  day.'  Some  cannot  bear  a  hot  sun  on 
their  backs  ;  and  those  whose  wind  is  not  so  good  as  it 
should  be,  run  with  much  greater  ease  by  night. 

It  is,  indeed,  gratifying  to  contemplate  the  change  that 
has  lately  taken  place  in  the  whole  system  of  the  road ;  and 
it  is  a  most  humane  one.  The  old-fashioned  coachman  to 
a  heavy  coach — and  they  were  all  heavy  down  to  very  recent 
times — bore  some  analogy  with  the  prize-fighter,  for  he 
stood  highest  who  could  hit  hardest.  He  was  generally  a 
man  of  large  frame,  made  larger  by  indulgence,  and  of  great 
bodily  power — which  was  useful  to  him.  To  the  button- 
hole of  his  coat  were  appended  several  whipcord  points, 
which  he  was  sure  to  have  occasion  for  on  the  road,  for  his 
horses  were  whipped  till  whipping  was  as  necessary  to  them 
as  their  harness.  In  fair  play  to  him,  however,  he  was  not 
solely  answerable  for  this  :  the  spirit  of  his  cattle  was  broken 
by  the  task  they  were  called  to  perform — for  in  those  days 
twenty-mile  stages  were  in  fashion  ; — and  what  was  the 
consequence  ?  Why,  the  four-horse  whip  and  the  Notting- 
ham whipcord  were  of  no  avail  over  the  latter  part  of  the 
ground,  and  something  like  a  cat-o '-nine-tails  was  produced 
out  of  the  boot,  which  was  jocularly  called  *  the  apprentice  '  ; 
and  a  shrewd  apprentice  it  was  to  the  art  of  torturing,  which 
was  inflicted  on  the  wheelers  without  stint  or  measure,  but 
without  which  the  coach  might  have  been  often  left  on  the 
road.  One  circumstance  alone  saved  these  horses  from 
destruction  ;  this  was  the  frequency  of  alehouses  on  the 
222 


^Nimrod ' 

road,   not  one   of    which   could   then   be   passed   without 
a  call. 

Still  our  old-fashioned  coachman  was  a  scientific  man  in 
his  calling — more  so,  perhaps,  than  by  far  the  greater  part 
of  his  brethren  of  the  present  day,  in  as  much  as  his  energies 
and  skill  were  more  frequently  put  to  the  test.  He  had 
heavy  loads,  bad  roads,  and  weary  horses  to  deal  with, 
neither  was  any  part  of  his  harness  to  be  depended  on,  upon 
a  pinch.  Then  the  box  he  sat  upon  was  worse  than  Pan- 
dora's, with  all  the  evils  it  contained,  for  even  hope  appeared 
to  have  deserted  it.  It  rested  on  the  bed  of  the  axletree, 
and  shook  the  frame  to  atoms  ;  but  when  prayers  were  put 
up  to  have  it  altered,  the  proprietors  said,  '  No  ;  the  rascal 
will  always  be  asleep  if  we  place  his  box  on  the  springs/ 
If,  among  all  these  difficulties,  then,  he  by  degrees  became 
a  drunkard,  who  can  wonder  at  his  becoming  so  ?  But  he 
was  a  coachman.  He  could  fetch  the  last  ounce  out  of  a 
wheel-horse  by  the  use  of  his  double  thong,  or  his  apprentice^ 
and  the  point  of  his  lash  told  terribly  upon  his  leaders.  He 
likewise  applied  it  scientifically  ;  it  was  directed  under  the 
bar  to  the  flank,  and  after  the  third  hit  he  brought  it  up  to 
his  hand  by  the  draw,  so  that  it  never  got  entangled  in  the 
pole-chains,  or  in  any  part  of  the  harness.  He  could  untie 
a  knot  with  his  teeth  and  tie  another  with  his  tongue,  as 
well  as  he  could  with  his  hands ;  and  if  his  thong  broke  off 
in  the  middle,  he  could  splice  it  with  dexterity,  and  even 
with  neatness,  as  his  coach  was  proceeding  on  its  journey. 
In  short,  he  could  do  what  coachmen  of  the  present  day 

223 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

cannot  do,  because  they  have  not  been  called  upon  to  do 
it ;  and  he  likewise  could  do  what  they  never  try  to  do — 
namely,  he  could  drive  when  he  was  drunk  nearly  as  well 
as  when  he  was  sober.  He  was  very  frequently  a  faithful 
servant  to  his  employers  ;  considered  trustworthy  by  bankers 
and  others  in  the  country  through  which  he  passed ; 
and  as  humane  to  his  horses,  perhaps,  as  the  adverse  circum- 
stances he  was  placed  in  by  his  masters  would  admit. 

It  has  been  suggested  to  road  surveyors,  that,  if  they 
would  leave  a  narrow  slip  of  loose  gravel  on  the  near  side 
of  severe  hills,  or  those  of  only  moderate  declivity  where 
the  fall  is  a  long  one,  and  the  road  hard,  it  would  save  in- 
numerable accidents  in  the  course  of  the  year,  as  the  moment 
a  coachman  found  his  coach  was  getting  the  better  of  the 
horses — or  should  any  part  of  his  tackle  give  way — he  could 
run  her  into  the  gravel,  and  her  velocity  would  be  almost 
instantly  checked.  If  placed  on  the  near  or  left-hand  side 
of  the  road,  it  would  not  inconvenience  carriages  ascending 
the  hills  ;  and  the  attention  of  a  labourer,  about  every  third 
day,  to  keep  the  gravel  in  its  place,  would  obviate  every 
difficulty.  Likewise,  it  is  desirable  that  roads  should  be 
raised  a  little  to  meet  a  coach,  as  it  were,  in  the  turns, 
especially  such  as  are  at  the  bottom  of  a  hill.  For  example, 
if  the  turn  is  to  the  right,  the  left  side  of  the  road  should  be 
the  higher,  so  as  to  give  support  to  a  coach  in  preserving 
her  centre  of  gravity.  Be  it  remembered,  that  if  the  body 
of  a  coach  could  be  made  to  lock  with  the  carriage,  she  would 
go  round  a  corner  at  full  speed  without  danger  ;  but  as 
224 


that  cannot  be  done,  too  much  precaution  cannot  be  used 
when  turning  her  from  her  line.  Only  a  few  years  back, 
the  Kingston  and  Worcester  mail  was  upset  in  going  round 
a  turn,  where  the  road  was  in  an  opposite  form  to  the  one 
we  have  just  pointed  out,  when,  according  to  evidence  pro- 
duced, she  was  going  at  the  rate  of  only  six  miles  in  the 
hour.  The  effects  of  this  accident  were  dreadful.  In  one 
respect,  however,  roads  are  more  safe  than  they  were,  being 
no  longer  rounded  in  the  middle,  which  caused  the  over- 
throw of  many  coaches  in  the  act  of  crossing  them,  and  the 
ruin  of  many  coach-horses,  by  straining  them  in  the  fetlock- 
joint. 

The  hills  on  our  great  roads  are  now  so  cut  through, 
that  coaches  ascend  nearly  all  of  them  in  the  trot.  Indeed, 
coachmen  have  found  out  that  their  horses  are  gainers  here, 
as  in  the  trot  every  horse  does  his  share  ;  whereas  very  few 
teams  are  all  at  work  together  when  walking.  Four  weak 
horses,  well  put  together,  will  draw  a  very  heavy  load  up  a 
hill  of  considerable  acclivity,  if  the  surface  be  hard,  and 
they  are  kept  to  a  trot.  As  a  mechanical  agent,  the  worst 
method  in  which  the  strength  of  a  horse  can  be  applied  is 
carrying  a  weight  up  hill  ;  and  the  best,  that  of  drawing  it. 
We  should,  however,  give  him  every  advantage  ;  and,  with 
a  loaded  coach,  '  keeping  her  alive/  as  coachmen  translate 
the  vis  vivida  of  the  mechanic,  is  of  vast  importance  in  the 
draught  of  her. 

We  have  now  only  one  more  hint  to  offer  as  to  stage- 
coaches. Proprietors  should  never,  if  they  can  avoid  it, 
p  225 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

suffer  two  coachmen  to  drive  the  same  horses  ;  either  each 
man  should  drive  his  own  ground  double,  or  he  should  go 
the  journey  throughout  and  return  the  next  day.  It  cannot 
be  expected  that  horses  can  do  well  in  the  hands  of  two 
coachmen,  even  allowing  them  equal  merits  ;  and  for  these 
plain  reasons  : — they  not  only  feel  the  effect  of  change  of 
hands,  which  ruffles  them,  but  they  know  not  what  to  be 
at  in  their  work ;  one  man  makes  his  play,  as  it  is  called, 
over  one  part  of  the  ground,  the  other  over  another  part. 
The  system  also  destroys  the  pride  a  coachman  takes  in 
seeing  his  stock  look  well ;  and,  if  anything  goes  wrong,  a 
wrangle  is  sure  to  be  the  consequence.  As  it  is  ascertained 
that  no  horse  can  run  at  the  top  of  his  speed  more  than  seven 
or  eight  miles  without  injury,  it  is  much  better  that  a  coach- 
man should  work  his  ground  double — this  is,  with  the  same 
team  down  and  up — if  the  hour  suits,  than  that  another  man 
should  touch  them.1 

Some  persons  object  to  two  sweats  a  day,  but  it  is  non- 
sense ;  how  does  the  race-horse  run  his  heats  ?  and  how 
many  sweats  does  a  roadster  or  a  hunter  get  on  the  same 
day  ?  In  very  fast  work,  it  is  better  for  cattle  to  run  five 
miles  in  and  out,  with  an  hour  or  two  of  rest  between  being 
taken  from  one  coach  and  put  to  the  other,  than  nine  miles 
straight  on  end. 

A   wonderful   change   has   taken   place   in  the   English 

1  So  material,  indeed,  is  this  point  considered  by  one  of  our  best  judges  of 
road  coach-work,  that  he  denies  the  possibility  of  any  coach  keeping  its  exact 
time  over  a  long  distance  of  ground,  unless  each  man  drives  his  own  horses, 
with  short  stages  for  each  team. 

226 


'NimrocP 

coach-horse,  as  well  as  the  sort  of  horses  put  into  other 
kinds  of  harness  ;  but  this  has  been  progressive.  Fifty 
years  ago,  the  idea  of  putting  a  thorough-bred  horse  into 
harness  would  have  been  considered  preposterous.  In  the 
carriages  of  our  noblemen  and  gentlemen,  the  long- tailed 
black,  or  Cleveland  bay — each  one  remove  from  the  cart- 
horse— was  the  prevailing  sort,  and  six  miles  an  hour  the 
extent  of  his  pace  ;  and  he  cost  from  thirty  pounds  to  fifty 
pounds.  A  few  years  back,  a  nobleman  gave  seven  hundred 
guineas  for  a  horse  to  draw  his  cabriolet :  two  hundred 
guineas  is  now  an  every-day  price  for  a  horse  of  this  de- 
scription, and  a  hundred  and  fifty  for  a  gentleman's  coach- 
horse  !  Indeed,  a  pair  of  handsome  coach-horses,  fit  for 
London,  and  well  broken  and  bitted,  cannot  be  purchased 
under  two  hundred  guineas  ;  and  even  job -masters  often 
give  much  more  for  them  to  let  out  to  their  customers.  In 
harness,  also,  we  think  we  have  arrived  at  perfection,  to 
which  the  invention  of  the  patent  shining  leather  has  mainly 
contributed.  A  handsome  horse,  well  harnessed,  is  a  noble 
sight ;  and  is  it  not  extraordinary  that  in  no  country  but 
England  is  the  art  of  putting  horses  into  harness  gener- 
ally understood  ?  Independently  of  the  workmanship  of 
the  harness -maker,  if  our  road -horses  were  put  to  their 
coaches  in  the  loose  awkward  fashion  of  the  Continent,  we 
could  never  travel  at  the  rate  we  do.  It  is  the  command 
given  over  the  coach-horse  that  alone  enables  us  to  do  it. 

We  may  as  well  say  a  word  or  two  as  to  private  vehicles 
ere  we  close.    As  a  facsimile  of  the   gentleman's  family- 

227 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

coach  of  fifty  years  back  is  now  become  difficult  to  produce, 
we  will  describe  it.  It  had  a  most  comfortable  and  roomy 
body,  quite  fit  to  contain  six  portly  persons,  and  suspended 
by  long  leather  braces,  affixed  to  nearly  upright  springs. 
To  enable  the  body  to  hang  low,  the  perch  of  a  bent  form, 
called  the  compass  perch,  was  used  ;  and  the  carriage  was 
of  great  length  and  strength.  In  fact,  it  was,  coachman  and 
all,  in  strict  accordance  with  the  animals  that  drew  it,  and 
came  under  the  denomination  of  *  slow  and  easy.'  The 
fashionable  open  carriage  of  this  day  was  a  still  more  un- 
sightly object — the  high,  single-bodied  phaeton,  all  upon 
the  fore- wheels,  and  looking  as  if  the  hinder  ones  had  nothing 
to  do  but  to  follow.  This  was  the  favourite  carriage  of  the 
late  King,  when  Prince  of  Wales,  and  was  commonly  driven, 
by  such  as  could  afford  it,  with  four  horses  in  hand.  Indeed, 
it  may  almost  be  said  to  have  given  birth  to  our  gentleman- 
coachmanship,  as  well  as  to  the  well-known  doggerel 
epigram  : — 

1  What  can  Tommy  Onslow  do  ? 
He  can  drive  a  phaeton  and  two. 
Can  Tommy  Onslow  do  no  more  ? 
Yes — he  can  drive  a  phaeton  and  four  !  ' 

The  phaeton  was  succeeded  by  the  no  less  classically 
yclept  curricle — a  carriage,  when  properly  appointed,  and 
followed  by  two  well-dressed  and  well-mounted  grooms,  of 
singular  elegance  certainly.  It  had  a  long  run  in  the  fashion- 
able world  ;  but  being,  like  the  phaeton,  only  calculated 
to  carry  two  persons,  and  requiring  never  less  than  three 
228 


TiTST 


HE   CAN    DRIVE   A    PHAETON    AND    T\\  O  " 


horses,  taxation  and  economy  put  an  end  to  it.  Then  came 
the  reign  of  the  gig.  The  curate 's  wife,  a  gouty  attorney, 
or  a  rich  old  farmer,  fifty  years  ago,  might  be  seen  boxed  up 
in  a  whiskey,  which,  being  hung  on  hind-  and  fore-braces, 
with  a  head  to  protect  its  inmates  from  weather,  made  a 
convenient  family  conveyance,  and — with  a  steady  dobbin 
to  draw  it — a  safe  one.  Economy  induced  a  leader  of  ton 
to  cast  favouring  eyes  on  this  snug  whiskey  ;  and  thence  the 
airy  gig,  which,  with  a  hundred-guinea  horse  in  it,  has  been 
the  best  friend  to  doctors  and  undertakers  they  have  ever 
yet  found.  The  race  has  multiplied,  and  many  names  and 
varieties  have  been  adopted  in  succession.  The  quiet  move- 
ment of  their  wheels,  the  nice  equilibrium  in  which  they 
are  placed  on  the  axle,  the  evenness  of  their  motion  by 
reason  of  their  being  detached  from  their  shafts,  and  the  ease 
with  which  they  follow  the  horse,  make  gigs  delightful 
carriages  to  ride  in,  and  we  could  wish  they  wrere  not  so 
dangerous.  The  stanhope,  so  named  after  the  Honourable 
Fitzroy  Stanhope,  who  planned  it,  succeeded  the  tilbury, 
so  called  from  the  well-known  coach-maker  ;  and  the  cost, 
without  harness,  of  either  may  be  about  seventy  pounds. 
Now,  '  every  dog  has  his  day,'  and  so  have  our  prevailing 
fashions.  The  buggy,  stanhope,  dennet,  and  tilbury,  have 
all,  during  some  seasons  past,  been  supplanted  by  the  cab- 
riolet for  town  work,  for  which  we  must  allow  it  is  far  more 
suitable — though  much  too  heavy  for  the  road.  In  London, 
this  has  been  seen  at  the  opera,  at  the  theatres,  at  the  club- 
houses, and  at  dinner-parties,  with  a  neat  little  urchin  on 

229 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

the  foot-board,  performing  all  the  offices  of  the  chariot 
with  not  a  third  of  its  expenses.  The  English  cabriolet, 
however,  is  rather  on  the  decline  in  the  fashionable  world, 
and  the  light  and  airy  tilbury  is  making  its  appearance 
again. 

For  country  work  nearly  all  these  open  vehicles  have 
given  place  to  the  double-bodied  phaeton  and  the  britscka, 
both  of  which  are  much  used  in  travelling  post.  The  former 
is  likewise  in  vogue  with  citizens  and  others  who  have 
families,  and  is  now  made  so  light  as  to  be  drawn  by  one 
horse  with  four  persons  in  it  with  ease,  for  a  limited  number 
of  miles.  Descending  still  lower  in  the  scale,  and  only  one 
remove  from  the  donkey-cart,  is  what  is  called  the  pony- 
chaise,  out  of  which  more  people  have  been  killed  than  we 
should  like  to  enumerate  here.  These  vehicles,  by  far  the 
most  dangerous  carriages  of  the  whole  family  they  belong  to, 
are  so  light  that  an  animal  even  of  little  power  can  do  what 
he  pleases  with  them  ;  they  are  also  obliged  to  be  made  so 
short  in  the  carriage,  that  the  least  thing  upsets  them,  while 
the  persons  in  them  are  not  out  of  reach  of  heels.  Should 
the  animal  be  alarmed  and  endeavour  to  run  away,  the  low- 
ness  and  lightness  of  the  vehicle  nearly  destroy  all  power  of 
resistance  ;  indeed,  if  he  have  much  power,  a  carriage  of  this 
description  may  be  compared  to  a  canister  tied  to  a  dog's 
tail.1 

1  Accidents  by  these  carriages  frequently  arise  from  apparently  an  un- 
known cause  ;  it  is  by  no  means  generally  known  that  horses  frequently  begin 
kicking  or  plunging  in  consequence  of  some  part  of  their  harness  pinching 
them,  but  which  their  drivers  are  quite  unconscious  of  at  the  time.  Thus 

230 


^Nimrod" 

The  taste  for  the  whip  has  undoubtedly  declined  ;  and 
at  one  time,  perhaps,  it  occupied  more  attention  among  the 
higher  classes  of  society  than  we  ever  wish  to  see  it  do  again. 
Yet,  taken  in  moderation,  we  can  perceive  no  reason  to 
condemn  this  branch  of  sport  more  than  others.  If  so  great 
a  personage  as  Sophocles  could  think  it  fitting  to  display 
his  science  in  public,  in  the  trifling  game  of  ball,  why  may 
not  an  English  gentleman  exercise  his  skill  on  a  coach-box  ? 
If  the  Athenians,  the  most  polished  nation  of  all  antiquity, 
deemed  it  an  honour  to  be  considered  skilful  charioteers, 
why  should  Englishmen  consider  it  a  disgrace  ?  To  be 
serious— our  amateur  or  gentlemen-coachmen  have  done 
much  good  :  the  road  would  never  have  been  what  it  now 
is,  but  for  the  encouragement  they  gave,  by  their  notice  and 
support,  to  all  persons  connected  with  it.  Would  the  Holy- 
head  road  have  been  what  it  is,  had  there  been  no  such 
persons  as  the  Hon.  Thomas  Kenyon,  Sir  Henry  Parnell, 
and  Mr.  Maddox  ?  Would  the  Oxford  coachmen  have  set 
so  good  an  example  as  they  have  done  to  their  brethren  of 
*  the  bench/  had  there  been  no  such  men  on  their  road  as 
Sir  Henry  Peyton,  Lord  Clonmell,  the  late  Sir  Thomas 
Mostyn,  that  Nestor  of  coachmen,  Mr.  Annesley,  and  the 

a  coach-horse  is  frequently  set  kicking  by  merely  a  twist  in  his  trace.  Many 
accidents,  however,  arise  from  using  horses  not  properly  broken  to  harness, 
as  well  as  from  the  inexperience  of  drivers.  We  have  all  heard  of  the  young 
Oxonian,  who  prevailed  on  his  uncle  to  accompany  him  in  his  gig  to  Oxford. 
In  passing  through  Kensington,  the  old  gentleman  observed  he  had  paid  his 
nephew  a  great  compliment,  for  that  was  only  the  fifth  time  he  had  ever  been 
in  a  gig  in  his  life.  The  nephew  replied  that  his  horse  beat  him  hollow,  for 
he  had  never  been  in  one  at  all  before  that  day  ! 

231 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

late  Mr.  Harrison  of  Shelswell  ? 1  Would  not  the  unhappy 
coachmen  of  five-and-twenty  years  back  have  gone  on, 
wearing  out  their  breeches  with  the  bumping  of  the  old 
coach-box,  and  their  stomachs  with  brandy,  had  not  Mr. 
Ward  of  Squerries,  after  many  a  weary  endeavour,  persuaded 
the  proprietors  to  place  their  boxes  upon  springs — the  plan 
for  accomplishing  which  was  suggested  by  Mr.  Roberts, 

1 '  Mr.  Charles  Holmes  and  theBlenheim  Coach. — "  Nimrod,"  in  his  Northern 
Tour  last  month,  got  upon  his  favourite  subject,  the  road ;  and  we  were  glad 
to  see  it,  because  we  think  occasional  notices  of  the  different  coachmen,  and 
the  turns-out  from  the  various  establishments,  are  calculated  to  afford  an 
additional  stimulus  to  all  persons  of  the  same  class,  and  also  to  promote  the 
public  service  in  the  coaching  department.  We  have  much  pleasure,  therefore, 
in  recording  a  very  handsome  and  flattering  compliment  that  has  been  recently 
paid  to  Mr.  Charles  Holmes,  the  driver  and  part  proprietor  of  the  Blenheim 
coach  (from  Woodstock  to  London),  to  celebrate  the  completion  of  his  twentieth 
year  on  that  well-appointed  coach,  a  period  that  has  elapsed  without  a  single 
accident  to  his  coach,  his  passengers,  or  himself,  and  during  which  time,  with 
the  exception  of  a  very  short  absence  from  indisposition,  he  has  driven  his 
sixty-five  miles  every  day,  making  somewhere  about  twenty-three  thousand 
miles  a  year.  The  numerous  patrons  of  the  coach  entered  into  a  subscription 
to  present  him  with  a  piece  of  plate  ;  and  accordingly  a  beautiful  cup,  bearing 
the  shape  of  an  antique  vase,  and  cover,  ornamented  with  rich  handles,  com- 
posed of  scrolls  and  foliage,  the  cover  surmounted  by  a  beautifully  modelled 
horse,  with  a  coach  and  four  horses  on  one  side,  and  a  suitable  inscription  on 
the  other,  was  presented  to  Mr.  Holmes  by  that  staunch  patron  of  the  road, 
Sir  Henry  Peyton,  Bart.,  in  August  last,  at  a  dinner  at  the  Thatched  House 
Tavern,  St.  James's  Street,  to  which  between  forty  and  fifty  gentlemen  sat 
down.  The  cup  was  manufactured  by  Messrs.  Green  and  Ward,  and  the 
list  of  subscribers  amounted  to  upwards  of  two  hundred  and  fifty,  including 
amongst  others  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  and  indeed  all  persons  of  rank, 
business,  or  pleasure,  whose  vocations  call  them  in  the  direction  that  the  coach 
travels.  We  see  by  *  Bell's  Life  in  London?  a  paper  that  has  uniformly  devoted 
itself  to  the  patronage  of  this  useful  class  of  men,  that  a  handsome  salver  is 
yet  to  be  presented  to  this  fortunate  and  deserving  coachman,  at  Oxford. 
We  feel  assured  that  this  flattering  distinction  will  have  its  due  influence  in 
all  parts  of  the  country,  and  we  wish  Mr.  Holmes  many  years  of  health  and 
prosperity  to  enjoy  the  reward  of  his  long  and  meritorious  services.' — (Ex- 
tract from  the  '  New  Sporting  Magazine  '  for  November  1835,  p.  68.) 

232 


'Nimrod' 

nephew  to  the  then  proprietor  of  the  White  Horse,  Fetter 
Lane,  London,  but  now  of  the  Royal  Hotel,  Calais  ?  What 
would  the  Devonshire  road  have  been,  but  for  the  late  Sir 
Charles  Bamfylde,  Sir  John  Rogers,  Colonel  Prouse,  Sir 
Lawrence  Palk,  and  others  ?  Have  the  advice  and  the 
practice  of  such  experienced  men  as  Mr.  Charles  Buxton, 
Mr.  Henry  Villebois,  Mr.  Okeover,  Sir  Bellingham  Graham, 
Mr.  John  Walker,  Lord  Sefton,  Sir  Felix  Agar,1  Mr.  Ackers, 
Mr.  Maxse,  Hon.  Fitzroy  Stanhope,  Colonel  Spicer,  Colonel 
Sibthorpe,  cum  multis  aliis,  been  thrown  away  upon  persons 
who  have  looked  up  to  them  as  protectors  ?  Certainly  not : 
neither  would  the  improvement  in  carriages — stage-coaches 
more  especially — have  arrived  at  its  present  height,  but  for 
the  attention  and  suggestions  of  such  persons  as  we  have 
been  speaking  of. 

Gentlemen-coaching,  however,  has,  as  we  said,  received 
a  check  ;  and  in  more  ways  than  one.  '  Tampering  with  the 
currency/  and  low  prices,  have  taken  off  the  leaders  ;  and 
the  bars  and  four-horse  whips  are  hung  up  for  the  present — 
very  few  four-in-hands  being  visible.2  The  *  B.D.C./  or 
Benson  Driving  Club,  which  still  holds  its  rendezvous  at 
the  '  Black  Dog/  Bedfont,  is  the  only  survivor  of  those 

1  Perhaps  one  of  the  finest  specimens  of  good  coachmanship  was  per- 
formed by  Sir  Felix  Agar.     He  made  a  bet,  which  he  won,  that  he  would 
drive  his  own  four-horses-in-hand  up  Grosvenor  Place,  down   the  passage, 
into  Tattersalls'  Yard,  around  the  pillar,  which  stands  in  the  centre  of  it, 
and  back  again  into  Grosvenor  Place,  without  either  of  his  horses  going  in  a 
slower  pace  than  a  trot. 

2  Only  ten  years  back,  there  were  from  thirty  to  forty  four-in-hand  equi- 
pages to  be  seen  constantly  about  town  : — one  is  stared  at  now  ! 

233 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

numerous  driving  associations  whose  processions  used, 
some  twenty  years  ago,  to  be  among  the  most  im- 
posing, as  well  as  peculiar,  spectacles  in  and  about  the 
metropolis. 

The  fashion,  however,  was  not  one  of  venerable  standing 
among  us — gentlemen-coachmen  not  having  been  known  in 
England  for  more  than  about  half  a  century.  We  believe 
we  ourselves  remember  the  Anglo-Ericthonius — the  late  Hon. 
Charles  Finch,  brother  to  the  late  Earl  of  Aylesford,  who 
used  to  drive  his  own  coach-and-four,  disguised  in  a  livery 
great  coat.  Soon  after  his  debut,  however,  the  celebrated 
'  Tommy  Onslow/  Sir  John  Lade,  and  others,  mounted  the 
box  in  their  own  character.  Sir  John  was  esteemed  a  re- 
nowned judge  of  coach-horses  and  carriages,  and  a  good 
coachman  of  the  old  school  ;  but  everything  connected  with 
the  coach-box  has  undergone  such  a  change  in  the  last 
twenty-five  years,  that  the  Nestors  of  the  art  are  no  longer 
to  be  quoted.  Mr.  Warde,  the  father  of  the  field,  may  now, 
we  believe,  be  called  the  father  of  the  road  also  ;  and  if  the 
old  heavy  Gloucester  '  six  insides,  and  sixteen  out,  with 
two  tons  of  luggage/  were  to  reappear  on  the  road,  no 
man's  advice  would  be  better  than  his. 

Count  Pecchio,  whose  little  volume  on  England  lately 
appeared,  has  a  luculent  chapter  on  the  astonishing  con- 
venience of  our  public  conveyances,  and  the  finished  elegance 
of  our  private  ones.  We  hardly,  indeed,  know  which  of 
the  two  things  is  more  likely  to  strike  the  imagination  of  a 
foreigner,  no  matter  from  what  part  of  the  world  he  may 
234 


come.  Any  one  who  has  been  accustomed  to  admire  the 
muster  of  vehicles  at  the  Tuileries,  must  indeed  open  his 
eyes  wide  the  first  time  he  is  in  St.  James's  Street  on  the  day 
of  a  levee  or  drawing-room.  Hyde  Park,  however,  on  any 
fine  afternoon,  in  the  height  of  the  London  season,  will  be 
more  than  enough  to  confound  him.  He  will  there  see 
what  no  other  country  under  the  heavens  can  show  him, 
and  what  is  more,  we  may  venture  to  add,  what  no  other 
country  ever  will  show  him.  Let  him  only  sit  on  the  rail 
near  our  Great  Captain's  statue,  with  his  watch  in  his  hand, 
and  in  the  space  of  two  hours  he  will  see  a  thousand  well- 
appointed  equipages  pass  before  him  to  the  Mall,  in  all  the 
pomp  of  aristocratic  pride,  and  in  which  the  very  horses 
themselves  appear  to  partake.  Everything  he  sees  is 
peculiar  : — the  silent  roll  and  easy  motion  of  the  London- 
built  carriage — the  style  of  the  coachmen  ;  it  is  hard  to 
determine  which  shine  brightest,  the  lace  on  their  clothes, 
their  own  round  faces,  or  their  flaxen  wigs ;  the  pipe-clayed 
reins — pipe-clayed  lest  they  should  soil  the  clean  white  gloves  ; 
the  gigantic  young  fellows,  in  huge  cocked-hats  bedaubed 
with  lace,  in  laced  silk  stockings,  new  kid  gloves,  and  with 
gold-headed  canes,  who  tower  above  *  Mr.  Coachman's  ' 
head  ;  not  forgetting  the  spotted  coach-dog,  which  has  just 
been  washed  for  the  occasion.  The  vis-d-visy  containing 
nobody  but  a  single  fair  dame,  with  all  its  set-out,  has  cost 
at  least  a  thousand  pounds  ;  and  the  stream  of  equipages 
of  all  calibres — barouches,  chariots,  cabriolets,  etc.,  almost 
all  got  up,  as  Mr.  Robin's  advertisements  say,  *  regardless  of 

235 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

expense/  ]l  flows  on  unbroken,  until  it  is  half-past  seven, 
and  people  at  last  must  begin  to  think  of  what  they  still  call 
dinner.  Old  Seneca  tells  us  such  a  blaze  of  splendour  was 
once  to  be  seen  on  the  Appian  Way.  It  might  be  so  :  it  is 
now  to  be  seen  nowhere  but  in  London. 

1  Already,  however,  like  all  other  trades,  coach-making  is  on  the  wane. 
Two  years  back,  the  town-coach  could  not  be  had  under  four  hundred  guineas. 
Three  hundred  is  the  price  now.  The  travelling-chariot,  with  everything 
complete,  could  not  be  purchased  under  three  hundred  and  eighty  guineas  ; 
three  hundred  will  now  suffice.  The  town-cabriolet  with  patent  boxes  to 
the  wheels,  commenced  at  a  hundred  and  fifty  guineas,  a  hundred  and  twenty 
is  now  the  figure  ;  and  so  with  all  the  rest  of  the  tribe. 


236 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THE  BAG  FOX 

THE  Noble  Earl  of  an  ancient  name  was* a  Cabinet 
*• 
Minister  who  flourished  less  than  a  hundred  years 

ago,  and  was  wont  every  now  and  then  to  leave  his 
portfolio  in  London  and  refresh  his  mind  and  body  with  a 
gallop  after  his  own  pack  of  Hounds  over  the  Vale  of  Ayles- 
bury.  As  he  could  only  hunt  occasionally  he  left  nothing 
to  chance,  and  therefore  found  it  convenient  not  to  limit 
himself  to  one  kind  of  game,  so  he  kept  a  pack  of  Hounds 
who  would  hunt  anything  ;  and  further  than  that,  in  order 
to  make  a  certainty  of  a  find  he  would  always  have  a  bag 
fox  ready  to  his  hand.  Legend  has  it  that  one  or  more 
foxes — we  cannot  give  a  fox  kept  in  captivity  the  compli- 
ment of  a  capital  F,  which  we  accord  to  the  wild  Fox — were 
imprisoned  in  a  pit  somewhere  near  Tring,  and  duly  kept 
in  condition  by  being  exercised  by  the  man  with  the  big 
birch  broom.  An  affair  with  one  of  these  foxes  is  duly 
described  in  humorous  verse  by  an  unknown  author,  who, 
from  the  tragedy  of  drawing  for  a  hare  for  two  hours  without 
success,  passes  to  the  comedy  of  turning  down  the  fox  and 
the  excitement  of  his  narrow  escape  ;  works  up  to  the  anti- 
climax of  digging  him  out  alive,  and  tells  of  his  safe  conduct 

237 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

to  Tring  together  with  the  Earl  and  his  Hounds  and  the  whole 
retinue. 

Now  all  this  is  extremely  funny,  and  a  hunt  after  a  bag 
fox  may  be  forgiven  if  it  is  simply  regarded  as  a  stimulant  to 
the  liver  of  a  Cabinet  Minister.  But  no  one  would  dignify 
such  a  pursuit  with  the  name  of  Sport.  To  hunt  any 
animal  whom  you  have  had  in  your  hand  is  not  Sport.  It 
is  an  amusement,  a  pastime.  Huntsmen  will  tell  you  that 
to  hunt  even  a  wild  Fox  who  has  been  bolted  from  an  earth 
or  drain  either  at  the  beginning  or  at  any  other  period  of 
a  run  gives  them  no  thrill.  It  may  give  a  lot  of  pleasure  to 
the  ladies  and  gentlemen,  but  it  is  not  Fox-hunting.  If, 
indeed,  you  mark  a  Fox  to  ground,  and  he  escapes  you  when 
you  are  trying  to  kill  him,  then  the  instinct  of  pursuit  is 
unbroken,  and  you  hunt  him  with  as  great  zest  after  he  has 
bolted  as  you  did  before.  One  morning  there  was  a  very 
hard  frost,  and  the  master  was  induced  to  put  his  Hounds 
into  a  wood  to  try  to  find  and  to  kill  an  old  Fox  who  was  said 
to  have  taken  more  chickens  in  one  village  than  probably 
existed  in  the  whole  of  the  county.  The  bitch  pack  was  out. 
They  found  at  once  and,  after  a  fine  cry  twice  or  thrice 
round  the  wood,  marked  him  to  ground  in  a  drain  one  field 
from  the  covert.  *  Now  we  will  eat  him  and  then  go  home,' 
said  the  master,  to  the  huge  delight  of  the  foot  people  who 
had  all  seen  the  Fox,  and  of  course  could  swear  to  him  among 
a  thousand  as  being  the  terror  of  the  hen-roosts.  But  the 
sanguine  master  had  reckoned  without  his  Fox.  The  animal 
had  too  much  sense  to  stop  in  the  drain,  and  took  the  only 
238 


KEPT    IN    CONDITION    BY    BEING    EXERCISED    BY    THE    MAN    WITH    THE    Bid    BIRCH    BROOM. 


The  "Bag  Fox 


alternative  risk  and  jumped  out  apparently  into  the  very 
mouths  of  the  pack.  The  horn  was  at  the  lips  of  the  master 
ready  to  sound  the  death-call,  when  the  old  Fox,  keeping  his 
head  in  crucial  moments  as  only  a  Fox  and  a  rat  know  how 
to  keep  it,  dived  under  one  Hound,  jumped  over  the  back  of 
a  second,  saved  himself  by  showing  his  fine  old  teeth  to 
a  third,  and  was  away  before  you  could  say  knife.  Back 
through  the  wood  he  flew,  and  set  his  head  for  the  open. 
He  was  not  seen  again  for  eight  long  miles,  when  the  bitches 
ran  into  him  in  the  middle  of  a  large  grass  field.  Now  in 
this  run  the  satisfaction  of  the  kill  was  not  one  bit  diminished 
by  his  having  been  in  the  drain.  He  was  given  no  law. 
His  enemies  were  not  trying  to  nurse  him,  but  were  trying 
all  the  time  to  kill  him.  The  animus  of  the  pursuit  was 
sustained  from  the  very  moment  he  was  found.  If  the 
Hounds  had  been  withdrawn  from  the  drain,  and  the  Fox 
bolted  and  given  a  chance,  there  would  still  have  been  a 
run,  but  it  would  not  have  been  the  real  thing.  Still  less 
would  the  illusion  have  succeeded  if  a  bag  had  been  used. 
The  use  of  the  bag  in  any  shape  or  form  destroys  all  the 
romance  and  spirit  of  Fox-hunting,  and  the  verse  we  here 
present  is  introduced  because  it  satirises  and  ridicules  a 
practice  which  is  wholly  out  of  tune  with  the  Sport  of  our 
Ancestors. 

Yet  the  curious  thing  is  that  the  bag  was  once  used  quite 
seriously  in  the  west  country  by  two  masters  of  Foxhounds 
whose  names  stand  very  high  in  the  lists  of  sportsmen. 
Sir  Walter  Carew  and  the  Rev.  John  Russell  both  hunted 

239 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

bag  foxes,  and  in  the  Devonshire  of  1826  the  practice  grew 
up  of  saving  the  Fox  alive  in  front  of  the  Hounds — though 
how  this  desperate  deed  was  done  is  not  recorded — and 
keeping  him  on  a  long  chain  in  a  yard,  to  be  there  exercised 
by  a  groom  with  a  driving  whip  until  he  was  wanted  for  the 
next  day's  hunting.  We  always  thought  that  the  old  Devon- 
shire men  like  Sir  Walter  Carew  and  Parson  Russell  were 
sportsmen  of  the  most  conservative  and  orthodox  type. 
How  their  consciences  yielded  to  treatment  to  the  extent 
of  allowing  them  to  hunt  foxes  from  a  bag  is  difficult  to 
imagine.  As  an  amusement  for  officers  in  India,  who  liter- 
ally cannot  get  a  gallop  in  any  other  way,  or  as  part  of  the 
amenities  of  a  French  health  resort  within  reach  of  the 
Pyrenees,  the  thing  is  intelligible.  If  it  becomes  the  fashion 
in  England,  the  curtain  will  have  been  rung  down  upon  the 
Sport  of  our  Ancestors. 


THE  NOBLE  EARL  OF  AN  ANCIENT  NAME 

A  noble  Earl  of  an  ancient  name 
Hunted  the  Fox,  but  preferred  him  tame, 
Though  his  sire  was  as  bold  a  sportsman  free 
As  ever  rode  over  a  grass  *  countree.' 
His  sire  would  mount  on  his  high-bred  horse 
And  view  the  wild  Fox  from  the  hillside  gorse, 
But  his  son  would  come  down  by  a  second-class  train, 
Worry  a  bagman,  and: — go  home  again  ! 
240 


The  "Bag  Fox 


'Tis  half-past  twelve  by  the  railway  clocks, 

And  the  Earl  has  just  called  for  his  horse  and  his  Fox  ; 

After  the  Earl  there  rides  the  Earl's  groom 

And  then  comes  a  man  with  a  big  birch  broom,1 

Clad  in  the  Earl's  discarded  breeches, 

To  tickle  him  up  when  he  comes  to  the  ditches. 

The  Earl's  admirers  are  ranged  in  Brown's  yard  ; 
They  all  wear  top-boots  and  mean  to  ride  hard  ; 
Whether  bold  dog  Fox,  or  timid  hare, 
Their  game  to-day,  they  none  of  them  care  ; 
So  'twas  well  that  the  Earl  had  brought  his  Fox 
Safely  wrapped  up  in  a  little  deal  box. 

For  two  hours  or  more  they  drew  for  a  hare, 
But  all  in  vain,  all  was  blank  despair  ; 
Then  said  the  Earl  to  the  elder  Brown, 
'  Open  the  box,  and  turn  him  down  !  ' 

So  they  turned  him  down  in  the  Aylesbury  Vale, 

In  front  of  a  fence  called  a  post  and  rail, 

To  suit  the  views  of  a  certain  '  gent,' 

Who  *  rather  liked  timber,'  and  thought  he  *  went.' 

Over  the  rails  the  first  to  fly 

Was  the  '  gent '  of  course,  but  the  Fox  was  shy, 

And  would  have  declined,  but  the  Earl  and  his  groom 

And  the  Huntsman  and  Whips,  and  the  man  with  the  broom, 

And  the  Browns,  Sam  and  John,  and  two  boys  from  a  cart, 

Would  not  hear  of  his  shirking,  but  drove  him  along  ! 

1  Tradition  says  that  the  Earl  kept  his  bag  foxes  in  a  pit,  where  they  were 
exercised  by  a  man  with  a  broom. 

Q  241 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

A  pleasant  line  the  captive  took, 
Shirking  the  doubles  and  avoiding  the  brook, 
For  as  you  may  imagine,  he  went  by  rule, 
Only  taking  the  leaps  that  he  learnt  at  school. 

Three  hounds  of  Baron  Rothschild's  breed, 

Matchless  in  courage,  strength,  and  speed, 

Fast  on  his  flying  footsteps  came, 

And  all  but  won  the  desperate  game  : 

But  just  as  the  Earl  was  about  to  sound 

The  dread  Who-whoop  !  he  went  to  ground  !  ! 

So  they  dug  him  out,  and  the  Earl  and  his  groom 

And  the  Huntsman  and  Whips,  and  the  man  with  the  broom, 

And  the  Fox  and  the  Hounds  are  at  Tring  again, 

And  the  Earl 's  gone  to  town  by  the  five  o'clock  train. 


242 


CHAPTER    IX 
ANTHONY  TROLLOPE 

AMONG  the  authors  who  are  presented  in  this  volume, 
AA  Anthony  Trollope  is  the  only  one  who  has  had  the 
distinction  of  being  mentioned  by  Mr.  Gosse  in  his 
well-known  book  on  English  Literature.  Mr.  Gosse,  writing 
in  1903,  in  his  preface  to  the  fourth  volume  of  his  work, 
says  that  *  the  age  through  which  we  have  just  passed  is 
still  too  close  to  us  to  enable  us  to  decide  with  any  confi- 
dence which,  among  the  many  names  which  were  prominent 
in  the  second  rank  of  its  literature,  will  continue  to  interest 
posterity.'  He  foreshadows  some  alterations  and  extensions 
in  future  editions  of  this  volume.  One  is  sorry  but  not 
altogether  surprised  that  Whyte  Melville  is  left  out,  but  one 
wonders  whether  some  day  Mr.  Gosse  will  recognise  the 
author  of  'Handley  Cross'  who  as  the  years  go  by  seems  to 
stand  out  more  clearly  than  many  of  his  contemporaries. 

Anthony  Trollope  was  born  in  1815  and  died  in  1882. 
The  Trollope  family  between  them  produced  >a  number  of 
books,  both  his  mother  and  his  brother  being  industrious 
writers.  But  it  is  with  Anthony  that  we  are  concerned,  not 
only  because  he  both  loved  and  understood  Fox-hunting, 
but  because  he  has  faithfully,  almost  meticulously,  preserved 
for  us  the  social  life  of  our  ancestors  in  the  mid- Victorian 

243 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

era.  He  never  invented  any  great  plots,  or  dealt  in  any- 
thing sensational,  unless  it  were  the  mild  sensation  of  the 
forgery  in  Orley  Farm ;  rather  than  a  creator  he  was  an 
accurate  limner  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  day  as 
interpreted  by  stodgy,  commonplace  sort  of  people.  He 
was  himself  a  post-office  official  whose  duties  caused  him 
to  travel  a  great  deal  in  the  provinces,  and  there  he  must 
have  acquired  much  material  for  his  intimate  and  amusing 
accounts  of  the  people  who  lived  in  the  country,  and  above 
all  in  the  country  towns.  He  seems  to  have  been  guided  by 
an  unerring  instinct  where  his  experience  might  have  been 
at  fault.  He  knew  his  way  about  the  intricacies  of  courtesy 
titles  a  great  deal  better  than  some  writers  who  deal  in  high 
rank.  Indeed,  it  was  said  of  him  by  Jehu  Junior  in  the 
*  Vanity  Fair '  of  the  day  that  he  was  never  known  to  commit 
a  solecism. 

But  in  addition  to  his  half-cynical,  half-good-natured 
pictures  of  crinoline  England,  he  excelled  in  his  understand- 
ing of  two  things.  The  one  was  the  difference  between  a 
Tory  and  a  Whig,  the  other  was  Fox-hunting.  The  difference 
in  political  temperaments  appears  all  through  *  The  Warden  * 
and  its  sequel,  'Bar Chester  Tower sj  the  two  novels  which  first 
began  to  make  him  famous.  They  were  published  in  1855 
and  1857  respectively.  In  the  opinion  of  many  of  his 
readers  they  are  the  best  that  he  wrote,  'Barchester  Towers  ' 
probably  being  his  masterpiece. 

The  dominant  figure  in  both  books  is  really  Archdeacon 
Grantly,  the  high-and-dry  Tory  Churchman  who  was  pre- 
244 


pared  to  go  to  any  lengths  to  preserve  the  Constitution  in 
Church  and  State,  and  especially  the  emoluments  and  pro- 
perty of  the  Establishment.  *  He  did  not  believe  in  the 
Gospel  with  more  assurance  than  he  did  in  the  sacred  justice 
of  all  Ecclesiastical  revenues.'  In  '  The  Warden '  his  antagonist 
is  John  Bold  the  Reformer,  who  was  rash  enough  to  insti- 
tute an  inquiry  into  the  income  of  Hiram's  hospital,  and  in 
* Bar Chester  Towers '  he  wins  a  pitched  battle  against  Mrs. 
Proudie,  the  Whig  wife  of  the  Whig  Bishop,  and  her  occa- 
sional ally,  the  odious  Low  Church  Radical  in  the  person 
of  the  Rev.  Obadiah  Slope,  the  Bishop's  Chaplain.  Mrs. 
Proudie  was  prepared  to  make  use  of  Mr.  Slope  provided 
he  kept  his  place,  and  was  docile  and  obedient.  But  as  soon 
as  he  '  got  his  head  out '  and  actually  had  the  presumption 
to  apply  for  the  Deanery  of  Barchester,  the  Whig  lady  turned 
upon  him.  *  Mrs.  Proudie  considered  herself  in  politics  a 
pure  Whig.  All  her  family  belonged  to  the  Whig  Party. 
Now,  among  all  ranks  of  Englishmen  and  Englishwomen  .  .  . 
no  one  is  so  hostile  to  lowly-born  pretenders  to  high  station 
as  the  pure  Whig.'  '  Dean  of  Barchester,'  shrieked  the 
Bishopess.  *  I  suppose  he  '11  be  looking  for  a  bishopric  some 
of  these  days — a  man  that  hardly  knows  who  his  own  father 
was  ;  a  man  whom  I  found  without  bread  to  his  mouth, 
or  a  coat  to  his  back  I  Dean  of  Barchester  indeed  !  I  '11 
dean  him.' 

All  this  is  not  quite  relevant  to  the  Sport  of  our  Ancestors, 
but  no  student  of  Trollope  can  think  of  him  without  recall- 
ing the  character  -  drawing  in  'Barchester  Towers,9  which 

245 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

enables  us  to  see  some  of  our  ancestors,  if  not  their  sport, 
as  this  humorous  and  acute  observer  himself  saw  them. 
But  we  will  pass  on  to  'The  American  Senator,'  published 
twenty  years  later. 

The  American  Senator  was  one  Mr.  Elias  Gotobed,  the 
Senator  for  Mickewa.  He  had  *  very  advanced  opinions  of 
his  own  respecting  government,  liberty,  and  public  institu- 
tions in  general/  Such  was  the  man  whom  John  Morton, 
the  Squire  of  Bragton,  known  as  *  the  Paragon/  had  for  his 
guest  when  the  Ufford  and  Rufford  Hounds  met  close  to 
Bragton  on  the  site  of  the  Old  Kennels.  John  Morton  was 
no  Fox-hunter,  but  had  just  returned  from  his  post  as  Secre- 
tary of  Legation  at  Washington,  bringing  with  him  the 
American  Senator,  whom  he  proposed  to  entertain  by  taking 
him  out  hunting  on  wheels.  Trollope  had  spent  some  time 
in  America,  so  he  thoroughly  understood  the  point  of  view 
of  such  a  one  as  Mr.  Gotobed.  He  also  thoroughly  under- 
stood all  the  technique  and  psychology  of  the  hunting-field. 
Therefore  the  extracts  from  his  book  that  we  have  chosen 
bear  the  hall-mark  of  authority,  and  are  written  with  a 
certainty  of  touch  that  is  the  particular  property  of  those 
who  know  their  subject.  He  was  himself  devoted  to  Fox- 
hunting, and  his  custom  was  to  rise  very  early,  write  no  more 
and  no  less  than  a  certain  prescribed  number  of  words  of  the 
book  on  which  he  was  then  engaged,  meet  a  pack  of  Fox- 
hounds within  reach  of  London,  return  to  his  literary  work, 
and  before  going  to  bed,  write  the  exact  number  of  words 
he  had  allotted  to  himself  for  his  evening  task.  It  sounds 
246 


Jtnthony  Trollope 


rather  mechanical.  Other  authors  may,  however,  have  done 
something  of  the  sort  and  not  have  disclosed  their  method. 
Trollope  gave  it  away  in  his  autobiography,  and  according 
to  Mr.  Gosse,  suffered  somewhat  in  popularity  as  a  conse- 
quence of  his  honesty.  But  however  unromantic  his  method, 
he  never  makes  a  mistake  in  writing  about  Fox-hunting. 
He  brings  in  sundry  days'  sport  in  more  than  one  of  his 
books,  and  wrote  eight  hunting  sketches  for  *  The  Pall  Mall 
Gazette?  which  were  printed  in  a  volume  by  themselves  in 
1865.  All  the  sketches  are  well  informed.  There  is  nothing 
much  in  them  about  Hounds,  except  some  very  sound  pieces 
of  advice  in  his  paper  on  *  How  to  ride  to  Hounds.'  He 
advises  the  would-be  rider  to  Hounds  not  to  ride  to  points, 
but  to  keep  his  eye  on  the  leading  Hound,  and  turn  when 
he  turns.  Never  to  ride  behind  the  Hounds,  but  alongside 
them  is  another  golden  rule  insisted  on  by  Trollope.  Any 
one,  he  says,  can  ride  among  the  Hounds  on  a  bad  scenting 
day.  At  such  times  he  advises  his  pupil  to  retire  some- 
what from  the  crowd,  and  *  give  place  to  those  eager  men 
who  are  breaking  the  huntsman's  heart.'  This  is  the  bitter 
cry  of  the  true  sportsman,  and  shows  more  feeling  than  do 
many  of  his  novels. 

And  what  could  be  better  than  his  final  paragraph  ?  He 
was  evidently  writing  of  something  that  he  loved  better  than 
Cathedral  Closes  and  overpaid  Wardens.  Here  it  is  : — 

*  Not  behind  hounds,  but  alongside  of  them, — if  only  you  can 
achieve  such  position, — it  should  be  your  honour  and  glory  to 
place  yourself ;  and  you  should  go  so  far  wide  of  them  as  in  no 

247 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

way  to  impede  them  or  disturb  them,  or  even  to  remind  them  of 
your  presence.  If  thus  you  live  with  them,  turning  as  they  turn, 
but  never  turning  among  them,  keeping  your  distance,  but  losing 
no  yard,  and  can  do  this  for  seven  miles  over  a  grass  country  in 
forty-five  minutes,  then  you  can  ride  to  hounds  better  than  nine- 
teen men  out  of  every  twenty  that  you  have  seen  at  the  meet,  and 
will  have  enjoyed  the  keenest  pleasure  that  hunting,  or  perhaps,  I 
may  say,  that  any  other  amusement,  can  give  you/ 

These  chapters  from  '  The  American  Senator '  are  chosen 
because  they  set  forth  in  a  few  touches,  but  with  unerring 
precision,  almost  every  point  of  view  from  which  Fox- 
hunting can  be  regarded.  There  is  Lord  Rufford,  who  really 
ought  to  have  been  the  M.F.H.  himself,  but  who  was  pro- 
bably too  idle  and  easy-going  to  face  the  responsibility :  a 
backwoodsman  with  much  more  money  than  brains,  who 
would  have  been  as  likely  to  have  wandered  into  the  House 
of  Commons  by  mistake  as  to  have  found  his  way  into  the 
House  of  Lords,  should  he  have  turned  to  Westminster 
Palace  for  a  new  sensation,  as  the  sated  gourmet  turned  to 
boiled  mutton  and  sago  pudding.  Devoted  to  hunting  and 
shooting,  but  not  prepared  to  do  any  spade  work  for  either, 
he  allows  Captain  Glomax,  the  carpet-bagger,  to  come  down 
to  his  own  country  of  Rufford,  and  take  the  place  that  should 
be  his.  Captain  Glomax  was  not  to  the  manner  born,  but 
compelled  by  sheer  love  of  Foxhounds  to  be  their  master, 
and  to  spend  his  money  on  keeping  and  breeding  them. 
Fox-hunting  has  always  produced,  and  will  continue  to 
produce,  men  like  Captain  Glomax,  ready  and  anxious 
to  face  all  the  wear  and  tear  of  mastership  in  return  for 
248 


Anthony  Trollope 


the    charm    that   they   find   in  the   service   of   the   ruling 
passion. 

Anthony  Trollope  hunted  in  Essex  among  other  countries. 
If  he  had  lived  long  enough  to  see  James  Bailey  hunting 
Hounds  we  should  undoubtedly  have  said  that  Bailey  was 
the  prototype  of  Tony  Tuppett.  Here  you  have  a  faithful 
portrait,  not  a  caricature,  of  the  long -service  provincial 
huntsman,  not  so  lean  or  so  brilliant  as  a  Tom  Firr,  but  one 
who  hammers  away  at  his  Foxes,  is  not  above  saving  a  fall 
by  '  going  round  by  Shuffler's  Bottom,'  and  is  an  institution 
popular  with  every  one.  Then  we  have  a  gallery  containing 
types  of  the  men  who  are  the  backbone  of  Fox-hunting  and 
of  much  else  besides,  many  of  them  having  a  hereditary 
interest  in  the  welfare  of  their  country  and  the  Sport  of  their 
Ancestors.  Mr.  Runciman,  the  landlord  of  *  The  Bush '  at 
Dillsborough ;  Ned  Botsey,  the  local  brewer ;  Harry  Stub- 
bings,  who  let  out  hunters  and  rode  steeplechases  ;  and 
last  but  not  least,  *  Larry  '  Twentyman,  the  gallant  yeoman, 
who  had  inherited  from  his  forefathers  three  hundred  acres 
of  land,  and  hunted  in  a  red  coat.  It  is  to  be  expected  that 
the  new  yeoman  class  now  created  by  the  tenants  who  have 
purchased  their  holdings  will  furnish  many  Twentymans 
in  the  future.  They  are  the  best  of  friends  to  Fox-hunting, 
and  are  a  class  more  essentially  English  than  any  other  that 
the  British  Isles  can  produce.  So  long  as  they  flourish, 
Fox-hunting  is  safe.  Closely  linked  to  them  are  the  pro- 
fessional men  in  the  country  towns.  It  will  be  bad  policy 
if  the  high  tariff  that  Hunt  Committees  are  now  charging  is 

249 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

enforced  so  rigidly  as  to  prevent  these  men  from  enjoying 
an  occasional  day's  hunting.  Trollope  knew  them  all  in- 
timately. In  an  earlier  chapter  he  exhibits  their  salutary 
prejudices  with  a  true  sense  of  comedy.  The  man  Goarly 
owned  some  land  on  the  edge  of  Dillsborough  Wood,  the 
property  of  Lord  Rufford,  and  actually  proposed  to  institute 
a  suit  against  that  nobleman  for  damage  done  to  crops  by 
his  lordship's  pheasants.  Moreover,  he  had  the  effrontery 
to  propose  himself  as  a  client  to  Mr.  Masters,  the  attorney, 
whose  daughter  Larry  Twentyman  wanted  to  marry.  '  The 
man  is  an  utter  blackguard,'  said  Larry.  *  Last  year  he 
threatened  to  shoot  the  foxes  in  Dillsborough  Wood.'  *  No  !  ' 
said  Kate  Masters,  quite  horrified.  As  a  result  of  this  con- 
versation, together  with  much  pressure  from  a  convivial 
conclave  of  the  Dillsborough  Club  in  the  back  parlour 
of  *  The  Bush,'  Mr.  Masters  had  thought  it  wise  to  abandon 
the  case  of  Goarly. 

We  have  met  Goarlys  here  and  there.  Their  bark  is 
worse  than  their  bite.  They  are  irritating  in  small  ways. 
For  instance,  there  is  no  surer  way  of  irritating  Fox-hunters 
than  by  appearing  with  a  gun  when  the  Hounds  are  out. 
How  Goarly  drew  them  all  by  doing  this,  and  how  he  en- 
listed the  wrong-headed  sympathy  of  the  American  Senator, 
is  good  to  read. 

But  perhaps  the  most  amusing  passages  are  those  which 

tell  how  poor  John  Morton,  by  no  means  an  expert,  was 

worried  all  day  by  having  to  find  answers  to  the  half-hostile, 

half -plausible  drift  of  the  American  Senator's  questions 

250 


^Anthony  Trollope 


about  Fox-hunting.  Of  all  things  in  this  world,  Fox-hunting 
is.  the  most  difficult  thing  to  explain  to  those  who  know 
nothing  about  it.  Mr.  Gotobed  had  set  himself  the  im- 
possible task  of  coming  over  to  England  to  find  out  all  about 
the  British  Constitution,  and  British  country  life.  Civili- 
sation has  not  given  birth  to  anything  more  stuffed  with 
anomalies  than  are  these  two  institutions.  Many  people 
here  might  be  concerned  with  either  or  both  of  them 
for  a  life- time  without  rightly  understanding  them.  The 
American  Senator  tried  to  understand  them  in  a  few  weeks, 
and  took  a  very  heavy  fall.  In  view  of  our  closer  contact 
with  certain  aspects  of  American  thought  and  feeling,  the 
book  is  well  worth  reading  to-day.  But  apart  from  inter- 
national politics,  it  should  certainly  be  read  by  all  those 
who  wish  to  study  the  influences  that  are  at  work  upon  the 
Sport  of  our  Ancestors. 


THE  OLD   KENNELS 

On  the  Saturday  morning  the  hounds  met  at  the  *  Old 
Kennels/  as  the  meet  was  always  called,  and  here  was  an 
excellent  opportunity  of  showing  to  Mr.  Gotobed  one  of 
the  great  institutions  of  the  country.  It  was  close  to  the 
house,  and  therefore  could  be  reached  without  any  trouble, 
and  as  it  was  held  on  Morton's  own  ground,  he  could  do 
more  towards  making  his  visitor  understand  the  thing  than 
might  have  been  possible  elsewhere.  When  the  hounds 

251 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

moved,  the  carriage  would  be  ready  to  take  them  about  the 
roads,  and  show  them  as  much  as  could  be  seen  on  wheels. 

Punctually  at  eleven  John  Morton  and  his  American 
guest  were  on  the  bridge,  and  Tony  Tuppett  was  already 
occupying  his  wonted  place,  seated  on  a  strong  grey  mare 
that  had  done  a  great  deal  of  work,  but  would  live — as  Tony 
used  to  say — to  do  a  great  deal  more.  Round  him  the 
hounds  were  clustered — twenty-three  couples  in  all — some 
seated  on  their  haunches,  some  standing  obediently  still, 
while  a  few  moved  about  restlessly,  subject  to  the  voices, 
and  on  one  or  two  occasions  to  a  gentle  administration  of 
thong  from  the  attendant  whips.  Four  or  five  horsemen 
were  clustering  round,  most  of  them  farmers,  and  were  talk- 
ing to  Tony.  Our  friend,  Mr.  Twentyman,  was  the  only 
man  in  a  red  coat  who  had  yet  arrived,  and  with  him,  on 
her  brown  pony,  was  Kate  Masters,  who  was  listening  with 
all  her  ears  to  every  word  that  Tony  said. 

'  That,  I  guess,  is  the  Captain  you  spoke  of/  said  the 
Senator,  pointing  to  Tony  Tuppett. 

*  Oh  no  ; — that 's  the  huntsman.  Those  three  men  in 
caps  are  the  servants  who  do  the  work.' 

'  The  dogs  can't  be  brought  out  without  servants  to  mind 
them  !  They  're  what  you  call  gamekeepers.'  Morton  was 
explaining  that  the  men  were  not  gamekeepers  when  Captain 
Glomax  himself  arrived,  driving  a  tandem.  There  was  no 
road  up  to  the  spot,  but  on  hunt  mornings — or  at  any  rate 
when  the  meet  was  at  the  Old  Kennels — the  park  gates  were 
open  so  that  the  vehicles  could  come  up  on  the  green  sward. 
252 


^Anthony  Trollope 


1  That  's  Captain  Glomax,  I  suppose/  said  Morton.  *  I 
don't  know  him,  but  from  the  way  he  's  talking  to  the  hunts- 
man you  may  be  sure  of  it.' 

*  He  is  the  great  man,  is  he  ?    All  these  dogs  belong  to 
him  ?  ' 

'  Either  to  him  or  the  hunt.' 

*  And  he  pays  for  those  servants  ?  ' 
'  Certainly.' 

*  He  is  a  very  rich  man,  I  suppose.'    Then  Mr.  Morton 
endeavoured  to  explain  the  position  of  Captain  Glomax. 
He  was  not  rich.    He  was  no  one  in  particular — except  that 
he  was  Captain  Glomax  ;  and  his  one  attribute  was  a  know- 
ledge of  hunting.    He  didn't  keep  the  '  dogs  '  out  of  his 
own  pocket.    He  received  £2000  a  year  from  the  gentlemen 
of  the  county,  and  he  himself  paid  anything  which  the 
hounds  and  horses  might  cost  over  that.    *  He  's  a  sort  of 
upper  servant,  then  ?  '  asked  the  Senator. 

'  Not  at  all.  He  's  the  greatest  man  in  the  county  on 
hunting  days.' 

*  Does  he  live  out  of  it  ?  ' 

*  I  should  think  not.' 

*  It 's  a  deal  of  trouble,  isn't  it  ?  ' 

*  Full  work  for  an  active  man's  time,  I  should  say.'    A 
great  many  more  questions  were  asked  and  answered,  at  the 
end  of  which  the  Senator  declared  that  he  did  not  quite 
understand  it,  but  as  far  as  he  saw  he  did  not  think  much  of 
Captain  Glomax. 

*  If  he  could  make  a  living  out  of  it  I  should  respect 

253 


The  Sport  of  Our  Jl nee s tors 

him,'  said  the  Senator  ; — *  though  it 's  like  knife-grinding  or 
handling  arsenic — an  unwholesome  sort  of  profession.' 

*  I  think  they  look  very  nice,'  said  Morton,  as  one  or  two 
well-turned-out  young  men  rode  up  to  the  place. 

*  They  seem  to  me  to  have  thought  more  about  their 
breeches  than  anything  else,'  said  the  Senator.    *  But  if 
they  're  going  to  hunt,  why  don't  they  hunt  ?    Have  they 
got  a  fox  with  them  ?  '    Then  there  was  a  further  ex- 
planation. 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  murmur  as  of  a  great  coming 
arrival,  and  then  an  open  carriage  with  four  post-horses  was 
brought  at  a  quick  trot  into  the  open  space.  There  were 
four  men  dressed  for  hunting  inside,  and  two  others  on  the 
box.  They  were  all  smoking,  and  all  talking.  It  was  easy 
to  see  that  they  did  not  consider  themselves  the  least  among 
those  who  were  gathered  together  on  this  occasion.  The 
carriage  was  immediately  surrounded  by  grooms  and  horses, 
and  the  ceremony  of  disencumbering  themselves  of  great- 
coats and  aprons,  of  putting  on  spurs  and  fastening  hat- 
strings  was  commenced.  Then  there  were  whispered  com- 
munications from  the  grooms,  and  long  faces  under  some  of 
the  hats.  This  horse  hadn't  been  fit  since  last  Monday's 
run,  and  that  man's  hack  wasn't  as  it  should  be.  A  mut- 
tered curse  might  have  been  heard  from  one  gentleman  as 
he  was  told,  on  jumping  from  the  box,  that  Harry  Stubbings 
hadn't  sent  him  any  second  horse  to  ride.  *  I  didn't  hear 
nothing  about  it  till  yesterday,  Captain,'  said  Harry  Stub- 
bings, *  and  every  foot  I  had  fit  to  come  out  was  bespoke.' 
254 


^Anthony  Trollope 


The  groom,  however,  who  heard  this  was  quite  aware  that 
Mr.  Stubbings  did  not  wish  to  give  unlimited  credit  to  the 
captain,  and  he  knew  also  that  the  second  horse  was  to  have 
carried  his  master  the  whole  day,  as  the  animal  which  was 
brought  to  the  meet  had  been  ridden  hard  on  the  previous 
Wednesday.  At  all  this  the  Senator  looked  with  curious 
eyes,  thinking  that  he  had  never  in  his  life  seen  brought 
together  a  set  of  more  useless  human  beings. 

*  That  is  Lord  Rufford,'  said  Morton,  pointing  to  a  stout, 
ruddy-faced,  handsome  man  of  about  thirty,  who  was  the 
owner  of  the  carriage. 

*  Oh,  a  lord.    Do  the  lords  hunt  generally  ?  ' 

*  That  's  as  they  like  it.' 

*  Senators  with  us  wouldn't  have  time  for  that/  said  the 
Senator. 

*  But  you  are  paid  to  do  your  work.' 

*  Everybody  from  whom  work  is  expected  should  be 
paid.    Then  the  work  will  be  done,  or  those  who  pay  will 
know  the  reason  why.' 

c  I  must  speak  to  Lord  Rufford,'  said  Morton.  *  If 
you  '11  come  with  me,  I  '11  introduce  you.'  The  Senator 
followed  willingly  enough,  and  the  introduction  was  made 
while  his  lordship  was  still  standing  by  his  horse.  The  two 
men  had  known  each  other  in  London,  and  it  was  natural 
that  Morton,  as  owner  of  the  ground,  should  come  out  and 
speak  to  the  only  man  who  knew  him.  It  soon  was  spread 
about  that  the  gentleman  talking  to  Lord  RufTord  was  John 
Morton,  and  many  who  lived  in  the  county  came  up  to  shake 

255 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

hands  with  him.  To  some  of  these  the  Senator  was  intro- 
duced, and  the  conversation  for  a  few  minutes  seemed  to 
interrupt  the  business  on  hand.  *  I  am  sorry  you  should  be 
on  foot,  Mr.  Gotobed,'  said  the  lord. 

*  And  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  mount  him/  said  Mr. 
Morton. 

*  We  can  soon  get  over  that  difficulty  if  he  will  allow  me 
to  offer  him  a  horse/ 

The  Senator  looked  as  though  he  would  almost  like  it, 
but  he  didn't  quite  like  it.  *  Perhaps  your  horse  might 
kick  me  off,  my  lord.' 

*  I  can't  answer  for  that ;   but  he  isn't  given  to  kicking, 
and  there  he  is,  if  you  '11  get  on  him.'    But  the  Senator  felt 
that  the  exhibition  would  suit  neither  his  age  nor  position, 
and  refused. 

*  We  'd  better  be  moving,'  said  Captain  Glomax.  '  I 
suppose,  Lord  Rufford,  we  might  as  well  trot  over  to  Dills- 
borough  Wood  at  once.  I  saw  Bean  as  I  came  along,  and 
he  seemed  to  wish  we  should  draw  the  wood  first.'  Then 
there  was  a  little  whispering  between  his  lordship  and  the 
master  and  Tony  Tuppett.  His  lordship  thought  that  as 
Mr.  Morton  was  there  the  hounds  might  as  well  be  run 
through  the  Bragton  spinnies.  Tony  made  a  wry  face  and 
shook  his  head.  He  knew  that  though  the  Old  Kennels 
might  be  a  very  good  place  for  meeting  there  was  no  chance 
of  finding  a  fox  at  Bragton.  And  Captain  Glomax,  who, 
being  an  itinerary  master,  had  no  respect  whatever  for  a 
country  gentleman  who  didn't  preserve,  also  made  a  long 

256 


^Anthony  Trollope 


face  and  shook  his  head.  But  Lord  Ruff  or  d,  who  knew  the 
wisdom  of  reconciling  a  newcomer  in  the  county  to  fox- 
hunting, prevailed,  and  the  hounds  and  men  were  taken 
round  a  part  of  Bragton  Park. 

*  What  'd  t'  old  squire  Ve  said  if  he  'd  Ve  known  there 
hadn't  been  a  fox  at  Bragton  for  more  nor  ten  year  ? '    This 
remark  was  made  by  Tuppett  to  Mr.  Runciman,  who  was 
riding  by  him.     Mr.  Runciman  replied   that   there  was   a 
great  difference  in  people.     £  You  may  say  that,  Mr.  Runci- 
man.    It 's  all  changes.    His  lordship's  father  couldn't  bear 
the  sight  of  a  hound  nor  a  horse  and  saddle.    Well  ; — I 
suppose   I   needn't  gammon  any  furder.    We  '11  just  trot 
across  to  the  wood  at  once.' 

[  They  haven't  begun  yet  as  far  as  I  can  see,'  said  Mr. 
Gotobed,  standing  up  in  the  carriage. 

c  They  haven't  found  as  yet,'  replied  Morton. 

'  They  must  go  on  till  they  find  a  fox  ?  They  never 
bring  him  with  them  ?  '  Then  there  was  an  explanation 
as  to  bagged  foxes,  Morton  not  being  very  conversant  with 
the  subject  he  had  to  explain.  *  And  if  they  shouldn't  find 
one  all  day  ?  ' 

'  Then  it  '11  be  a  blank.' 

'  And  these  hundred  gentlemen  will  go  home  quite 
satisfied  with  themselves  ?  ' 

'  No  ; — they  '11  go  home  quite  dissatisfied.' 

*  And  have  paid  their  money  and  given  their  time  for 
nothing  ?    Do  you  know,  it  doesn't  seem  to  me  the  most 
heart-stirring  thing  in  the  world.    Don't  they  ride  faster 

R  257 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

than  that  ?  '  At  this  moment  Tony  with  the  hounds  at  his 
heels  was  trotting  across  the  park  at  a  huntsman's  usual  pace 
from  covert  to  covert.  The  Senator  was  certainly  un- 
gracious. Nothing  that  he  saw  produced  from  him  a  single 
word  expressive  of  satisfaction. 

Less  than  a  mile  brought  them  to  the  gate  and  road 
leading  up  to  Chowton  Farm.  They  passed  close  by  Larry 
Twentyman's  door,  and  not  a  few,  though  it  was  not  yet 
more  than  half-past  eleven,  stopped  to  have  a  glass  of  Larry's 
beer.  When  the  hounds  were  in  the  neighbourhood  Larry's 
beer  was  always  ready.  But  Tony  and  his  attendants 
trotted  by  with  eyes  averted,  as  though  no  thought  of  beer 
was  in  their  minds.  Nothing  had  been  done,  and  a  hunts- 
man is  not  entitled  to  beer  till  he  has  found  a  fox.  Captain 
Glomax  followed  with  Lord  RufTord  and  a  host  of  others. 
There  was  plenty  of  way  here  for  carriages,  and  half  a  dozen 
vehicles  passed  through  Larry's  farmyard.  Immediately 
behind  the  house  was  a  meadow,  and  at  the  bottom  of  the 
meadow  a  stubble  field,  next  to  which  was  the  ditch  and 
bank  which  formed  the  bounds  of  Dillsborough  Wood. 
Just  at  this  side  of  the  gate  leading  to  the  stubble  field  there 
was  already  a  concourse  of  people  when  Tony  arrived  near 
it  with  the  hounds,  and  immediately  there  was  a  holloaing 
and  loud  screeching  of  directions,  which  was  soon  under- 
stood to  mean  that  the  hounds  were  at  once  to  be  taken 
away  !  The  Captain  rode  on  rapidly,  and  then  sharply  gave 
his  orders.  Tony  was  to  take  the  hounds  back  to  Mr. 
Twentyman's  farmyard  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  shut  them 
258 


Jlnthony  Trollope 


up  in  a  barn.  The  whips  were  put  into  violent  commotion. 
Tony  was  eagerly  at  work.  Not  a  hound  was  to  be  allowed 
near  the  gate.  And  then,  as  the  crowd  of  horsemen  and 
carriages  came  on,  the  word  '  poison  '  was  passed  among  them 
from  mouth  to  mouth  ! 

'  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  '  said  the  Senator. 

'  I  don't  at  all  know.  I  'm  afraid  there  's  something 
wrong/  replied  Morton. 

'  I  heard  that  man  say  "  poison."  They  have  taken  the 
dogs  back  again.'  Then  the  Senator  and  Morton  got  out 
of  the  carriage,  and  made  their  way  into  the  crowd.  The 
riders  who  had  grooms  on  second  horses  were  soon  on  foot, 
and  a  circle  was  made,  inside  which  there  was  some  object 
of  intense  interest.  In  the  meantime  the  hounds  had  been 
secured  in  one  of  Mr.  Twentyman's  barns. 

What  was  that  object  of  interest  shall  be  told  in  the  next 
chapter. 


GOARLY'S   REVENGE 

The  Senator  and  Morton  followed  close  on  the  steps  of 
Lord  Rufford  and  Captain  Glomax,  and  were  thus  able  to 
make  their  way  into  the  centre  of  the  crowd.  There,  on  a 
clean  sward  of  grass,  laid  out  as  carefully  as  though  he  were 
a  royal  child  prepared  for  burial,  was — a  dead  fox.  '  It 's 
p'ison,  my  lord  ;  it 's  p'ison  to  a  moral/  said  Bean,  who 
as  keeper  of  the  wood  was  bound  to  vindicate  himself,  and 

259 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

his  master,  and  the  wood.  '  Feel  of  him,  how  stiff  he  is.' 
A  good  many  did  feel,  but  Lord  Ruff  or  d  stood  still  and 
looked  at  the  poor  victim  in  silence.  *  It 's  easy  knowing 
how  he  come  by  it,'  said  Bean. 

The  men  around  gazed  into  each  other's  faces  with  a 
sad,  tragic  air,  as  though  the  occasion  were  one  which  at 
the  first  blush  was  too  melancholy  for  many  words.  There 
was  whispering  here  and  there,  and  one  young  farmer's  son 
gave  a  deep  sigh,  like  a  steam-engine  beginning  to  work,  and 
rubbed  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  '  There  ain't 
nothin'  too  bad — nothin','  said  another,  leaving  his  audience 
to  imagine  whether  he  were  alluding  to  the  wretchedness 
of  the  world  in  general,  or  to  the  punishment  which  was 
due  to  the  perpetrator  of  this  nefarious  act.  The  dreadful 
word  '  vulpicide  '  was  heard  from  various  lips  with  an  oath 
or  two  before  it.  *  It  makes  me  sick  of  my  own  land,  to 
think  it  should  be  done  so  near,'  said  Larry  Twentyman, 
who  had  just  come  up.  Mr.  Runciman  declared  that  they 
must  set  their  wits  to  work  not  only  to  find  the  criminal  but 
to  prove  the  crime  against  him,  and  offered  to  subscribe  a 
couple  of  sovereigns  on  the  spot  to  a  common  fund  to  be 
raised  for  the  purpose.  '  I  don't  know  what  is  to  be  done 
with  a  country  like  this,'  said  Captain  Glomax,  who,  as  an 
itinerant,  was  not  averse  to  cast  a  slur  upon  the  land  of  his 
present  sojourn. 

*  I   don't   remember   anything   like   it   on   my   property 
before,'  said  the  lord,  standing  up  for  his  own  estate  and  the 
county  at  large. 
260 


IT'S  r'isoN,  MY  LORD.'' 


^Anthony  Trollope 


'  Nor  in  the  hunt/  said  young  Hampton.  '  Of  course 
such  a  thing  may  happen  anywhere.  They  had  foxes 
poisoned  in  the  Pytchley  last  year.' 

*  It  shows  a  d bad  feeling  somewhere,'  said  the 

master. 

'  We  know  very  well  where  the  feeling  is,'  said  Bean, 
who  had  by  this  time  taken  up  the  fox,  determined  not  to 
allow  it  to  pass  into  any  hands  less  careful  than  his 
own. 

'  It  's  that  scoundrel  Goarly  !  '  said  one  of  the  Botseys. 
Then  there  was  an  indignant  murmur  heard,  first  of  all 
from  two  or  three  and  then  running  among  the  whole  crowd. 
Everybody  knew  as  well  as  though  he  had  seen  it  that  Goarly 
had  baited  meat  with  strychnine  and  put  it  down  in  the 
wood.  *  Might  have  p'isoned  half  the  pack  !  '  said  Tony 
Tuppett,  who  had  come  up  on  foot  from  the  barn  where 
the  hounds  were  still  imprisoned,  and  had  caught  hold  in 
an  affectionate  manner  of  a  fore-pad  of  the  fox  which  Bean 
had  clutched  by  the  two  hind-legs.  Poor  Tony  Tuppett 
almost  shed  tears  as  he  looked  at  the  dead  animal,  and 
thought  what  might  have  been  the  fate  of  the  pack.  '  It  's 
him,  my  lord,'  he  said,  '  as  we  run  through  Littleton  Gorse 
Monday  after  Christmas  last,  and  up  to  Impington  Park 
where  he  got  away  from  us  in  a  hollow  tree.  He  's  four 
year  old,'  added  Tony,  looking  at  the  animal's  mouth,  *  and 
there  war  n't  a  finer  dog  fox  in  the  county.' 

'  Do  they  know  all  the  foxes  ?  '  asked  the  Senator.  In 
answer  to  this,  Morton  only  shook  his  head,  not  feeling  quite 

261 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

sure  himself  how  far  a  huntsman's  acquaintance  in  that  line 
might  go,  and  being  also  too  much  impressed  by  the  occasion 
for  speculative  conversation. 

*  It 's  that  scoundrel  Goarly  '  had  been  repeated  again 
and  again  ;  and  then  on  a  sudden  Goarly  himself  was  seen 
standing  on  the  further  hedge  of  Larry's  field  with  a  gun 
in  his  hand.  He  was  not  at  this  time  above  two  hundred 
yards  from  them,  and  was  declared  by  one  of  the  young 
farmers  to  be  grinning  with  delight.  The  next  field  was 
Goarly 's,  but  the  hedge  and  ditch  belonged  to  Twentyman. 
Larry  rushed  forward  as  though  determined  to  thrash  the 
man,  and  two  or  three  followed  him.  But  Lord  Rufford 
galloped  on  and  stopped  them.  '  Don't  get  into  a  row  with 
a  fellow  like  that/  he  said  to  Twentyman. 

'  He  's  on  my  land,  my  lord,'  said  Larry  impatiently. 

'  I  'm  on  my  own  now,  and  let  me  see  who  '11  dare  to 
touch  me,'  said  Goarly  jumping  down. 

1  You  Ve  put  poison  down  in  that  wood,'  said  Larry. 

'  No,  I  didn't ; — but  I  knows  who  did.  It  ain't  I  as 
am  afeard  for  my  young  turkeys.'  Now  it  was  well  known 
that  old  Mrs.  Twentyman,  Larry's  mother,  was  fond  of 
young  turkeys,  and  that  her  poultry-yard  had  suffered. 
Larry,  in  his  determination  to  be  a  gentleman,  had  always 
laughed  at  his  mother's  losses.  But  now  to  be  accused  in 
this  way  was  terrible  to  his  feelings  !  He  made  a  rush  as 
though  to  jump  over  the  hedge,  but  Lord  Rufford  again 
intercepted  him.  '  I  didn't  think,  Mr.  Twentyman,  that 
you  'd  care  for  what  such  a  fellow  as  that  might  say.'  By 
262 


Anthony  Trollope 


this  time  Lord  Ruff  or  d  was  off  his  horse,  and  had  taken  hold 
of  Larry. 

*  I  '11  tell  you  all  what  it  is/  screamed  Goarly,  standing 
just  at  the  end  of  his  own  field — '  if  a  hound  comes  out  of 
the  wood  on  to  my  land,  I  '11  shoot  him.  I  don't  know 
nothing  about  p'isoning,  though  I  dare  say  Mr.  Twenty  man 
does.  But  if  a  hound  comes  on  my  land,  I  '11  shoot  him — 
open,  before  you  all.'  There  was,  however,  no  danger  of 
such  a  threat  being  executed  on  this  day,  as,  of  course, 
no  hound  would  be  allowed  to  go  into  Dillsborough 
Wood. 

Twentyman  was  reluctantly  brought  back  into  the  meadow 
where  the  horses  were  standing,  and  then  a  consultation 
was  held  as  to  what  they  should  do  next.  There  were  some 
who  thought  that  the  hounds  should  be  taken  home  for  the 
day.  It  was  as  though  some  special  friend  of  the  U.R.U. 
had  died  that  morning,  and  that  the  spirits  of  the  sports- 
men were  too  dejected  for  their  sport.  Others,  with  prudent 
foresight,  suggested  that  the  hounds  might  run  back  from 
some  distant  covert  to  Dillsborough,  and  that  there  should 
be  no  hunting  till  the  wood  had  been  thoroughly  searched. 
But  the  strangers,  especially  those  who  had  hired  horses, 
would  not  hear  of  this  ;  and  after  considerable  delay  it  was 
arranged  that  the  hounds  should  be  trotted  off  as  quickly 
as  possible  to  Impington  Gorse,  which  was  on  the  other 
side  of  Impington  Park,  and  fully  five  miles  distant.  And 
so  they  started,  leaving  the  dead  fox  in  the  hands  of  Bean 
the  gamekeeper. 

263 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

1  Is  this  the  sort  of  thing  that  occurs  every  day  ?  '  asked 
the  Senator  as  he  got  back  into  the  carriage. 

*  I   should  fancy  not/  answered  Morton.    '  Somebody 
has  poisoned  a  fox,  and  I  don't  think  that  is  very  often  done 
about  here.' 

*  Why  did  he  poison  him  ?  ' 

'  To  save  his  fowls,  I  suppose.' 

1  Why  shouldn't  he  poison  him  if  the  fox  takes  his  fowls  ? 
Fowls  are  better  than  foxes.' 

'  Not  in  this  country,'  said  Morton. 

'  Then  I  'm  very  glad  I  don't  live  here,'  said  Mr.  Gotobed. 
'  These  friends  of  yours  are  dressed  very  nicely  and  look 
very  well — but  a  fox  is  a  nasty  animal.  It  was  that  man 
standing  up  on  the  bank — wasn't  it  ?  '  continued  the  Senator, 
who  was  determined  to  understand  it  all  to  the  very  bottom, 
in  reference  to  certain  lectures  which  he  intended  to  give 
on  his  return  to  the  States — and  perhaps  also  in  the  Old 
Country  before  he  left  it. 

'  They  suspect  him.' 

'  That  man  with  the  gun  !  One  man  against  two  hun- 
dred !  Now  I  respect  that  man  ; — I  do  with  all  my  heart.' 

1  You  'd  better  not  say  so  here,  Mr.  Gotobed.' 

*  I  know  how  full  of  prejudice  you  all  'air — but  I  do 
respect  him.     If  I  comprehend  the  matter  rightly,  he  was 
on  his  own  land  when  we  saw  him.' 

!  Yes  ; — that  was  his  own  field.' 

'  And  they  meant  to  ride  across  it  whether  he  liked  it 
or  no  ?  ' 
264 


Anthony  Trollope 


'  Everybody  rides  across  everybody's  land  out  hunting.' 

*  Would  they  ride  across  your  park,  Mr.  Morton,  if  you 
didn't  let  them  ?  ' 

'  Certainly  they  would — and  break  down  all  my  gates  if 
I  had  them  locked,  and  pull  down  my  park  palings  to  let 
the  hounds  through.' 

'  And  you  would  get  no  compensation  ?  ' 

'  Practically  I  could  get  none.  And  certainly  I  should 
not  try.  The  greatest  enemy  to  hunting  in  the  whole 
county  would  not  be  foolish  enough  to  make  the  attempt.' 

'  Why  so  ?  ' 

*  He  would  get  no  satisfaction,  and  everybody  would 
hate  him.' 

'  Then  I  respect  that  man  the  more.  What  is  that  man's 
name  ?  '  Morton  hadn't  heard  the  name,  or  had  forgotten 
it.  *  I  shall  find  that  man  out,  and  have  some  conversation 
with  him,  Mr.  Morton.  I  respect  that  man,  Mr.  Morton. 
He  's  one  against  two  hundred,  and  he  insists  upon  his 
rights.  These  men  standing  round  and  wiping  their  eyes, 
and  stifled  with  grief  because  a  fox  had  been  poisoned,  as 
though  some  great  patriot  had  died  among  them  in  the 
service  of  his  country,  formed  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
phenomena,  sir,  that  ever  I  beheld  in  any  country.  When 
I  get  among  my  own  people  in  Mickewa  and  tell  them  that, 
they  won't  believe  me,  sir.' 

In  the  meantime  the  cavalcade  was  hurrying  away  to 
Impington  Gorse,  and  John  Morton,  feeling  that  he  had  not 
had  an  opportunity  as  yet  of  showing  his  American  friend 

265 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

the  best  side  of  hunting,  went  with  them.  The  five  miles 
were  five  long  miles,  and  as  the  pace  was  not  above  seven 
miles  an  hour,  nearly  an  hour  was  occupied.  There  was 
therefore  plenty  of  opportunity  for  the  Senator  to  inquire 
whether  the  gentlemen  around  him  were  as  yet  enjoying 
their  sport.  There  was  an  air  of  triumph  about  him  as  to 
the  misfortunes  of  the  day,  joined  to  a  battery  of  continued 
raillery,  which  made  it  almost  impossible  for  Morton  to 
keep  his  temper.  He  asked  whether  it  was  not  at  any  rate 
better  than  trotting  a  pair  of  horses  backwards  and  forwards 
over  the  same  mile  of  road  for  half  the  day,  as  is  the  custom 
in  the  States.  But  the  Senator,  though  he  did  not  quite 
approve  of  trotting  matches,  argued  that  there  was  infinitely 
more  of  skill  and  ingenuity  in  the  American  pastime. 
*  Everybody  is  so  gloomy/  said  the  Senator,  lighting  his 
third  cigar.  *  I  Ve  been  watching  that  young  man  in  pink 
boots  for  the  last  half  hour,  and  he  hasn't  spoken  a  word 
to  any  one/ 

*  Perhaps  he  's  a  stranger,'  said  Morton. 

*  And  that 's  the  way  you  treat  him  !  ' 

It  was  past  two  when  the  hounds  were  put  into  the  gorse, 
and  certainly  no  one  was  in  a  very  good  humour.  A  trot 
of  five  miles  is  disagreeable,  and  two  o'clock  in  November 
is  late  for  finding  a  first  fox,  and  then  poisoning  is  a  vice 
which  may  grow  into  a  habit !  There  was  a  general  feeling 
that  Goarly  ought  to  be  extinguished,  but  an  idea  that  it 
might  be  difficult  to  extinguish  him.  The  whips,  never- 
theless, cantered  on  to  the  corner  of  the  covert,  and  Tony 
266 


^Anthony  Trollope 


put  in  his  hounds  with  a  cheery  voice.  The  Senator  re- 
marked that  the  gorse  was  a  very  little  place — for  as  they 
were  on  the  side  of  an  opposite  hill  they  could  see  it  all. 
Lord  Rufford,  who  was  standing  by  the  carriage,  explained 
to  him  that  it  was  a  favourite  resort  of  foxes,  and  difficult 
to  draw  as  being  very  close.  *  Perhaps  they  Ve  poisoned 
him  too,'  said  the  Senator.  It  was  evident  from  his  voice 
that  had  such  been  the  case  he  would  not  have  been  among 
the  mourners.  '  The  blackguards  are  not  thick  enough  in 
our  country  for  that,'  said  Lord  Rufford,  meaning  to  be 
sarcastic. 

Then  a  whimper  was  heard  from  a  hound — at  first  very 
low,  and  then  growing  into  a  fuller  sound.  *  There  he  is/ 
said  young  Hampton.  '  For  heaven's  sake  get  those  fellows 
away  from  that  side,  Glomax.'  This  was  uttered  with  so 
much  vehemence  that  the  Senator  looked  up  in  surprise. 
Then  the  Captain  galloped  round  the  side  of  the  covert,  and 
making  use  of  some  strong  language,  stopped  the  ardour  of 
certain  gentlemen  who  were  in  a  hurry  to  get  away  on  what 
they  considered  good  terms.  Lord  Rufford,  Hampton, 
Larry  Twentyman,  and  others  sat  stock  still  on  their  horses, 
watching  the  gorse.  Fred  Botsey  urged  himself  a  little 
forward  down  the  hill,  and  was  creeping  on  when  Captain 

Glomax  asked  him  whether  he  would  be  so  obliging 

kind  as  to  remain  where  he  was  for  half  a  minute.  Fred 
took  the  observations  in  good  part  and  stopped  his  horse. 
*  Does  he  do  all  that  cursing  and  swearing  for  the  £2000  ?  ' 
asked  the  Senator. 

267 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

The  fox  traversed  the  gorse  back  from  side  to  side  and 
from  corner  to  corner  again  and  again.  There  were  two 
sides  certainly  at  which  he  might  break,  but  though  he  came 
out  more  than  once  he  could  not  be  got  to  go  away. 

*  They  '11  kill  him  now  before  he  breaks/  said  the  elder 
Botsey. 

'  Brute  !  '  exclaimed  his  brother. 

'  They  're  hot  on  him  now,'  said  Hampton.  At  this  time 
the  whole  side  of  the  hill  was  ringing  with  the  music  of  the 
hounds. 

1  He  was  out  then,  but  Dick  turned  him,'  said  Larry. 
Dick  was  one  of  the  whips. 

'  Will  you  be  so  kind,  Mr.  Morton,'  asked  the  Senator, 
'  as  to  tell  me  whether  they  're  hunting  yet  ?  They  Ve  been 
at  it  for  three  hours  and  a  half,  and  I  should  like  to  know 
when  they  begin  to  amuse  themselves.' 

Just  as  he  had  spoken  there  came  from  Dick  a  cry  that 
he  was  away.  Tony,  who  had  been  down  at  the  side  of  the 
gorse,  at  once  jumped  into  it,  knowing  the  passage  through. 
Lord  Ruff  or  d,  who  for  the  last  five  or  six  minutes  had  sat 
perfectly  still  on  his  horse,  started  down  the  hill  as  though 
he  had  been  thrown  from  a  catapult.  There  was  a  little 
hand-gate  through  which  it  was  expedient  to  pass,  and  in  a 
minute  a  score  of  men  were  jostling  for  the  way,  among 
whom  were  the  two  Botsey s,  our  friend  Runciman,  and 
Larry  Twentyman,  with  Kate  Masters  on  the  pony  close 
beside  him.  Young  Hampton  jumped  a  very  nasty  fence  by 
the  side  of  the  wicket,  and  Lord  Rufford  followed  him.  A 
268 


Jfnthony  Trollope 


score  of  elderly  men,  with  some  young  men  among  them 
too,  turned  back  into  a  lane  behind  them,  having  watched 
long  enough  to  see  that  they  were  to  take  the  lane  to  the  left, 
and  not  the  lane  to  the  right.  After  all  there  was  time 
enough,  for  when  the  men  had  got  through  the  hand-gate 
the  hounds  were  hardly  free  of  the  covert,  and  Tony,  riding 
up  the  side  of  the  hill  opposite,  was  still  blowing  his  horn. 
But  they  were  off  at  last,  and  the  bulk  of  the  field  got  away 
on  good  terms  with  the  hounds.  *  Now  they  are  hunting/ 
said  Mr.  Morton  to  the  Senator. 

'  They  all  seemed  to  be  very  angry  with  each  other  at 
that  narrow  gate.' 

'  They  were  in  a  hurry,  I  suppose/ 

'  Two  of  them  jumped  over  the  hedge.  Why  didn't  they 
all  jump  ?  How  long  will  it  be  now  before  they  catch  him  ?  ' 

'  Very  probably  they  may  not  catch  him  at  all.' 

*  Not  catch  him  after  all  that !  Then  the  man  was 
certainly  right  to  poison  that  other  fox  in  the  wood.  How 
long  will  they  go  on  ?  ' 

'  Half  an  hour  perhaps.' 

'  And  you  call  that  hunting  !  Is  it  worth  the  while  of 
all  those  men  to  expend  all  that  energy  for  such  a  result  ? 
Upon  the  whole,  Mr.  Morton,  I  should  say  that  it  is  one  of 
the  most  incomprehensible  things  that  I  have  ever  seen  in 
the  course  of  a  rather  long  and  varied  life.  Shooting  I  can 
understand,  for  you  have  your  birds.  Fishing  I  can  under- 
stand, as  you  have  your  fish.  Here  you  get  a  fox  to  begin 
with,  and  are  all  broken-hearted.  Then  you  come  across 

269 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors 

another,  after  riding  about  all  day,  and  the  chances  are  you 
can't  catch  him  !  ' 

*  I  suppose,'  said  Mr.  Morton  angrily,  '  the  habits  of  one 
country   are   incomprehensible   to   the   people   of  another. 
When  I  see  Americans  loafing  about  in  the  bar-room  of  an 
hotel,  I  am  lost  in  amazement.' 

*  There  is  not  a  man  you  see  who  couldn't  give  a  reason 
for  his  being  there.    He  has  an  object  in  view — though 
perhaps  no  better  than  to  rob  his  neighbour.    But  here 
there  seems  to  be  no  possible  motive.' 


FROM  IMPINGTON   GORSE 

The  fox  ran  straight  from  the  covert  through  his  well- 
known  haunts  to  Impington  Park,  and  as  the  hounds  were 
astray  there  for  two  or  three  minutes  there  was  a  general 
idea  that  he  too  had  got  up  into  a  tree — which  would  have 
amused  the  Senator  very  much  had  the  Senator  been  there. 
But  neither  had  the  country  nor  the  pace  been  adapted  to 
wheels,  and  the  Senator  and  the  Paragon  were  now  returning 
along  the  road  towards  Bragton.  The  fox  had  tried  his  old 
earths  at  Impington  High  Wood,  and  had  then  skulked  back 
along  the  outside  of  the  covert.  Had  not  one  of  the  whips 
seen  him  he  would  have  been  troubled  no  further  on  that 
day — a  fact  which,  if  it  could  have  been  explained  to  the 
Senator  in  all  its  bearings,  would  greatly  have  added  to  his 
delight.  But  Dick  viewed  him  ;  and  with  many  holloas 
270 


Anthony  Trollope 


and  much  blowing  of  horns,  and  prayers  from  Captain 
Glomax  that  gentlemen  would  only  be  so  good  as  to  hold 
their  tongues,  and  a  full-tongued  volley  of  abuse  from  half 
the  field  against  an  unfortunate  gentleman  who  rode  after 
the  escaping  fox  before  a  hound  was  out  of  the  covert,  they 
settled  again  to  their  business.  It  was  pretty  to  see  the 
quiet  ease  and  apparent  nonchalance,  and  almost  affected 
absence  of  bustle  of  those  who  knew  their  work — among 
whom  were  especially  to  be  named  young  Hampton,  and  the 
elder  Botsey,  and  Lord  Rufford,  and,  above  all,  a  dark- 
visaged,  long- whiskered,  sombre,  military  man,  who  had 
been  in  the  carriage  with  Lord  Rufford,  and  who  had  hardly 
spoken  a  word  to  any  one  the  whole  day.  This  was  the 
celebrated  Major  Caneback,  known  to  all  the  world  as  one 
of  the  dullest  men  and  best  riders  across  country  that  Eng- 
land had  ever  produced.  But  he  was  not  so  dull  but  that  he 
knew  how  to  make  use  of  his  accomplishment,  so  as  always 
to  be  able  to  get  a  mount  on  a  friend's  horses.  If  a  man 
wanted  to  make  a  horse,  or  to  try  a  horse,  or  to  sell  a  horse, 
or  to  buy  a  horse,  he  delighted  to  put  Major  Caneback  up. 
The  Major  was  sympathetic  and  made  his  friend's  horses, 
and  tried  them,  and  sold  them.  Then  he  would  take  his 
two  bottles  of  wine — of  course  from  his  friend's  cellar — and 
when  asked  about  the  day's  sport  would  be  oracular  in  two 
words,  '  Rather  slow,'  *  Quick  spurt,'  '  Goodish  thing,' 
'  Regularly  mulled,'  and  such  like.  Nevertheless  it  was  a 
great  thing  to  have  Major  Caneback  with  you.  To  the  list 
of  those  who  rode  well  and  quietly  must  in  justice  be  added 

271 


The  Sport  of  Our  ^Ancestors    , 

our  friend  Larry  Twentyman,  who  was  in  truth  a  good 
horseman.  And  he  had  three  things  to  do  which  it  was 
difficult  enough  to  combine.  He  had  a  young  horse  which 
he  would  have  liked  to  sell  ;  he  had  to  coach  Kate  Masters 
on  his  pony  ;  and  he  desired  to  ride  like  Major  Caneback. 

From  Impington  Park  they  went  in  a  straight  line  to 
Littleton  Gorse,  skirting  certain  small  woods  which  the  fox 
disdained  to  enter.  Here  the  pace  was  very  good,  and  the 
country  was  all  grass.  It  was  the  very  cream  of  the  U.R.U.  ; 
and  could  the  Senator  have  read  the  feelings  of  the  dozen 
leading  men  in  the  run,  he  would  have  owned  that  they 
were  for  the  time  satisfied  with  their  amusement.  Could 
he  have  read  Kate  Masters'  feelings  he  would  have  had  to 
own  that  she  was  in  an  earthly  Paradise.  When  the  pony 
paused  at  the  big  brook,  brought  its  four  legs  steadily  down 
on  the  brink  as  though  he  were  going  to  bathe,  then  with  a 
bend  of  his  back  leapt  to  the  other  side,  dropping  his  hind- 
legs  and  instantly  recovering  them,  and  when  she  saw  that 
Larry  had  waited  just  a  moment  for  her,  watching  to  see 
what  might  be  her  fate,  she  was  in  heaven.  *  Wasn't  it  a  big 
one,  Larry  ?  '  she  asked  in  her  triumph  ;  '  he  did  go  in 
behind  !  '  '  Those  cats  of  things  always  do  it  somehow/ 
Larry  replied,  darting  forward  again,  and  keeping  the  Major 
well  in  his  eye.  The  brook  had  stopped  one  or  two,  and 
tidings  came  up  that  Ned  Botsey  had  broken  his  horse's 
back.  The  knowledge  of  the  brook  had  sent  some  round 
by  the  road  —  steady  riding  men  such  as  Mr.  Runciman 
and  Doctor  Napper.  Captain  Glomax  had  got  into  it,  and 
272 


LARKY  AND  KATK  MASTERS. 


Anthony  Trollope 


came  up  afterwards  wet  through,  with  temper  by  no  means 
improved.  But  the  glory  of  the  day  had  been  the  way  in 
which  Lord  Rufford's  young  bay  mare,  who  had  never  seen 
a  brook  before,  had  flown  over  it  with  the  Major  on  her 
back,  taking  it,  as  Larry  afterwards  described,  *  just  in  her 
stride,  without  condescending  to  look  at  it.  I  was  just 
behind  the  Major,  and  saw  her  do  it.'  Larry  understood 
that  a  man  should  never  talk  of  his  own  place  in  a  run,  but 
he  didn't  quite  understand  that  neither  should  he  talk  of 
having  been  close  to  another  man  who  was  supposed  to 
have  had  the  best  of  it.  Lord  Rufford,  who  didn't  talk 
much  of  these  things,  quite  understood  that  he  had  received 
full  value  for  his  billet  and  mount  in  the  improved  character 
of  his  mare. 

Then  there  was  a  little  difficulty  at  the  boundary  fence  of 
Impington  Hall  Farm.  The  Major,  who  didn't  know  the 
ground,  tried  it  at  an  impracticable  place,  and  brought  his 
mare  down.  But  she  fell  at  the  right  side,  and  he  was  quick 
enough  in  getting  away  from  her,  not  to  fall  under  in  the 
ditch.  Tony  Tuppett,  who  knew  every  foot  of  that  double 
ditch  and  bank,  and  every  foot  in  the  hedge  above,  kept  well 
to  the  left  and  crept  through  a  spot  where  one  ditch  ran 
into  the  other,  intersecting  the  fence.  Tony,  like  a  know- 
ing huntsman  as  he  was,  rode  always  for  the  finish  and  not 
for  immediate  glory.  Both  Lord  Rufford  and  Hampton, 
who  in  spite  of  their  affected  nonchalance  were  in  truth 
rather  riding  against  one  another,  took  it  all  in  a  fly,  choosing 
a  lighter  spot  than  that  which  the  Major  had  encountered. 
s  273 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

Larry  had  longed  to  follow  them,  or  rather  to  take  it 
alongside  of  them,  but  was  mindful  at  last  of  Kate,  and 
hurried  down  the  ditch  to  the  spot  Tony  had  chosen,  and 
which  was  now  crowded  by  horsemen.  *  He  would  have 
done  it  as  well  as  the  best  of  them/  said  Kate,  panting  for 
breath. 

*  We  're  all  right/  said  Larry.  *  Follow  me.  Don't  let 
them  hustle  you  out.  Now,  Mat,  can't  you  make  way  for  a 
lady  half  a  minute  ?  '  Mat  growled,  quite  understanding 
the  use  which  was  being  made  of  Kate  Masters  ;  but  he  did 
give  way  and  was  rewarded  with  a  gracious  smile.  f  You  are 
going  uncommon  well,  Miss  Kate/  said  Mat,  *  and  I  won't 
stop  you.'  *  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Ruggles/ 
said  Kate,  not  scrupling  for  a  moment  to  take  the  advantage 
offered  her.  The  fox  had  turned  a  little  to  the  left,  which 
was  in  Larry's  favour,  and  the  Major  was  now  close  to  him, 
covered  on  one  side  with  mud,  but  still  looking  as  though 
the  mud  were  all  right.  There  are  some  men  who  can 
crush  their  hats,  have  their  boots  and  breeches  full  of  water, 
and  be  covered  with  dirt  from  their  faces  downwards,  and 
yet  look  as  though  nothing  were  amiss,  while,  with  others, 
the  marks  of  a  fall  are  always  provocative  either  of  pity  or 
ridicule.  '  I  hope  you  're  not  hurt,  Major  Caneback/  said 
Larry,  glad  of  the  occasion  to  speak  to  so  distinguished  an 
individual.  The  Major  grunted  as  he  rode  on,  finding  no 
necessity  here  even  for  his  customary  two  words.  Little 
accidents,  such  as  that,  were  the  price  he  paid  for  his  day's 
entertainment. 
274 


Anthony  Trollope 


As  they  got  within  view  of  Littleton  Gorse,  Hampton, 
Lord  Rufford,  and  Tony  had  the  best  of  it,  though  two  or 
three  farmers  were  very  close  to  them.  At  this  moment 
Tony's  mind  was  much  disturbed,  and  he  looked  round 
more  than  once  for  Captain  Glomax.  Captain  Glomax  had 
got  into  the  brook,  and  had  then  ridden  down  to  the  high 
road  which  ran  here  near  to  them,  and  which,  as  he  knew, 
ran  within  one  field  of  the  gorse.  He  had  lost  his  place  and 
had  got  a  ducking,  and  was  a  little  out  of  humour  with  things 
in  general.  It  had  not  been  his  purpose  to  go  to  Impington 
on  this  day,  and  he  was  still,  in  his  mind,  saying  evil  things 
of  the  U.R.U.  respecting  that  poisoned  fox.  Perhaps  he 
was  thinking,  as  itinerant  masters  often  must  think,  that  it 
was  very  hard  to  have  to  bear  so  many  unpleasant  things  for 
a  poor  £2000  a  year,  and  meditating,  as  he  had  done  for  the 
last  two  seasons,  a  threat  that  unless  the  money  were  in- 
creased, he  wouldn't  hunt  the  country  more  than  three  times 
a  week.  As  Tony  got  near  to  the  gorse,  and  also  near  to  the 
road,  he  managed  with  infinite  skill  to  get  the  hounds  off 
the  scent,  and  to  make  a  fictitious  cast  to  the  left  as  though 
he  thought  the  fox  had  traversed  that  way.  Tony  knew 
well  enough  that  the  fox  was  at  that  moment  in  Littleton 
Gorse  ;  but  he  knew  also  that  the  gorse  was  only  six  acres, 
that  such  a  fox  as  he  had  before  him  wouldn't  stay  there 
two  minutes  after  the  first  hound  was  in  it,  and  that  Dills- 
borough  Wood — which  to  his  imagination  was  full  of  poison 
— would  then  be  only  a  mile  and  a  half  before  him.  Tony, 
whose  fault  was  a  tendency  to  mystery — as  is  the  fault  of 

275 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

most  huntsmen — having  accomplished  his  object  in  stopping 
the  hounds,  pretended  to  cast  about  with  great  diligence. 
He  crossed  the  road,  and  was  down  one  side  of  a  field  and 
along  another,  looking  anxiously  for  the  Captain.  '  The 
fox  has  gone  on  to  the  gorse,'  said  the  elder  Botsey  ;  '  what 
a  stupid  old  pig  he  is  ' — meaning  that  Tony  Tuppett  was 
the  pig. 

'  He  was  seen  going  on/  said  Larry,  who  had  come 
across  a  man  mending  a  drain. 

1  It  would  be  his  run,  of  course,'  said  Hampton,  who  was 
generally  up  to  Tony's  wiles,  but  who  was  now  as  much  in 
the  dark  as  others.  Then  four  or  five  rode  up  to  the  hunts- 
man, and  told  him  that  the  fox  had  been  seen  heading  for 
the  gorse.  Tony  said  not  a  word,  but  bit  his  lips  and 
scratched  his  head  and  bethought  himself  what  fools  men 
might  be  even  though  they  did  ride  well  to  hounds.  One 
word  of  explanation  would  have  settled  it  all,  but  he 
would  not  speak  that  word  till  he  whispered  it  to  Captain 
Glomax. 

In  the  meantime  there  was  a  crowd  in  the  road  waiting 
to  see  the  result  of  Tony's  manoeuvres.  And  then,  as  is 
usual  on  such  occasions,  a  little  mild  repartee  went  about — 
what  sportsmen  themselves  would  have  called  *  chaff.'  Ned 
Botsey  came  up,  not  having  broken  his  horse's  back,  as  had 
been  rumoured,  but  having  had  to  drag  the  brute  out  of  the 
brook  with  the  help  of  two  countrymen,  and  the  Major  was 
asked  about  his  fall  till  he  was  forced  to  open  his  mouth. 
4  Double  ditch  ; — mare  fell  ; — matter  of  course.'  And  then 
276 


Jfnthony  Trollope 


he  got  himself  out  of  the  crowd,  disgusted  with  the  littleness 
of  mankind.  Lord  Rufford  had  been  riding  a  very  big 
chestnut  horse,  and  had  watched  the  anxious  struggles  of 
Kate  Masters  to  hold  her  place.  Kate,  though  fifteen,  and 
quite  up  to  that  age  in  intelligence  and  impudence,  was 
small  and  looked  almost  a  child.  f  That 's  a  nice  pony  of 
yours,  my  dear/  said  the  lord.  Kate,  who  didn't  quite 
like  being  called  *  my  dear,'  but  who  knew  that  a  lord  has 
privileges,  said  that  it  was  a  very  good  pony.  c  Suppose  we 
change,'  said  his  lordship.  *  Could  you  ride  my  horse  ?  ' 
*  He  's  very  big,'  said  Kate.  '  You  Jd  look  like  a  torn-tit 
on  a  haystack,'  said  his  lordship.  *  And  if  you  got  on 
my  pony,  you  'd  look  like  a  haystack  on  a  torn- tit,'  said 
Kate.  Then  it  was  felt  that  Kate  Masters  had  had  the 
best  of  that  little  encounter.  '  Yes  ; — I  got  one  there,' 
said  Lord  Rufford,  while  his  friends  were  laughing  at 
him. 

At  length  Captain  Glomax  was  seen  in  the  road  and 
Tony  was  with  him  at  once,  whispering  in  his  ear  that  the 
hounds  if  allowed  to  go  on  would  certainly  run  into  Dills- 
borough  Wood.  *  D the  hounds,'  muttered  the  Captain  ; 

but  he  knew  too  well  what  he  was  about  to  face  so  terrible 
a  danger.  *  They  're  going  home,'  he  said  as  soon  as  he  had 
joined  Lord  Rufford  and  the  crowd. 

*  Going  home  !  '  exclaimed  a  pink-coated  young  rider  of 
a  hired  horse  which  had  been  going  well  with  him  ;  and  as 
he  said  so  he  looked  at  his  watch. 

'  Unless  you  particularly  wish  me  to  take  the  hounds  to 

277 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

some  covert  some  twenty  miles  off/  answered  the  sarcastic 
master. 

1  The  fox  certainly  went  on  to  Littleton/  said  the  elder 
Botsey. 

*  My  dear  fellow,'  said  the  Captain,  *  I  can  tell  you  where 
the  fox  went  quite  as  well  as  you  can  tell  me.    Do  allow  a 
man  to  know  what  he  's  about  sometimes.' 

*  It  isn't  generally  the  custom  here  to  take  the  hounds 
off  a  running  fox,'  continued  Botsey,  who  subscribed  £50, 
and  did  not  like  being  snubbed. 

*  And  it  isn't  generally  the  custom  to  have  fox-coverts 
poisoned,'  said  the  Captain,  assuming  to  himself  the  credit 
due  to  Tony's  sagacity.    '  If  you  wish  to  be  master  of  these 
hounds  I  haven't  the  slightest  objection,  but  while  I  'm  re- 
sponsible you  must  allow  me  to  do  my  work  according  to 
my  own  judgment.'    Then  the  thing  was  understood,  and 
Captain  Glomax  was  allowed  to  carry  off  the  hounds  and 
his  ill-humour  without  another  word. 

But  just  at  this  moment,  while  the  hounds  and  the  master, 
and  Lord  Rufford  and  his  friends,  were  turning  back  in 
their  own  direction,  John  Morton  came  up  with  his  carriage 
and  the  Senator. 

'  All  over  for  to-day,'  said  Lord  Rufford. 

*  Did  you  catch  the  animal  ?  ' 

'  No,  Mr.  Gotobed  ;  we  couldn't  catch  him.  To  tell 
the  truth  we  didn't  try  ;  but  we  had  a  nice  little  skurry  for 
four  or  five  miles.' 

1  Some  of  you  look  very  wet.'  Captain  Glomax  and  Ned 
278 


^Anthony  Trollope 


Botsey  were  standing  near  the  carriage  ;  but  the  Captain,  as 
soon  as  he  heard  this,  broke  into  a  trot  and  followed  the 
hounds. 

*  Some  of  us  are  very  wet,'  said  Ned.    '  That 's  part  of 
the  fun.' 

*  Oh  ; — that  's  part  of  the  fun.    You  found  one  fox  dead 
and  you  didn't  kill  another  because  you  didn't  try.    Well ; 
Mr.  Morton,  I  don't  think  I  shall  take  to  fox-hunting  even 
though   they   should   introduce   it   to   Mickewa.      What 's 
become  of  the  rest  of  the  men  ?  ' 

4  Most  of  them  are  in  the  brook,'  said  Ned  Botsey  as  he 
rode  on  towards  Dillsborough. 

Mr.  Runciman  was  also  there  and  trotted  on  homewards 
with  Botsey,  Larry,  and  Kate  Masters.  '  I  think  I  've  won 
my  bet,'  said  the  hotel-keeper. 

'  I  don't  see  that  at  all.  We  didn't  find  in  Dillsborough 
Wood.' 

'  I  say  we  did  find  in  Dillsborough  Wood.  We  found  a 
fox,  though  unfortunately  the  poor  brute  was  dead.' 

'  The  bet 's  off,  I  should  say.    What  do  you  say,  Larry  ? ' 

Then  Runciman  argued  his  case  at  great  length  and  with 
much  ability.  It  had  been  intended  that  the  bet  should  be 
governed  by  the  fact  whether  Dillsborough  Wood  did  or  did 
not  contain  a  fox  on  that  morning.  He  himself  had  backed 
the  wood,  and  Botsey  had  been  strong  in  his  opinion  against 
the  wood.  Which  of  them  had  been  practically  right  ? 
Had  not  the  presence  of  the  poisoned  fox  shown  that  he  was 
right  ?  '  I  think  you  ought  to  pay,'  said  Larry. 

279 


The  Sport  of  Our  Ancestors 

'  All  right/  said  Botsey  riding  on,  and  telling  himself 
that  that  was  what  came  from  making  a  bet  with  a  mail  who 
was  not  a  gentleman. 

*  He  's  as  unhappy  about  that  hat/  said  Runciman,  *  as 
though  beer  had  gone  down  a  penny  a  gallon.' 


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